Money. It was the universal language, transcending epochs, dimensions, and even the apocalypse. And right now, Klein Moretti was fluent in "broke."
"We cannot keep paying with Beyonder characteristics," Klein muttered, pinning a piece of parchment to the public notice board. "We need local currency."
The notice was written in the common tongue of the Third Epoch (a derivative of Feysac). But to make sure Klein wrote a translation just above in Jotun.
[Private Detective]
[Sherlock Moriarty]
[Specializes in: Finding lost items, resolving disputes, spiritual consultation.]
[Discretion Guaranteed.]
"A detective..." A passerby, a Sanguine with a monocle, stopped to read it.
Klein adjusted his top hat.
"Precisely, sir. Efficiency is my motto."
For the next three days, the Great Ruler of the Spirit World, The Fool, and the owner of Sefirah Castle... searched for lost cats.
He found a missing Moon-Rabbit for a crying Sanguine child (it was hiding in a gargoyle's mouth). He exposed a cheating husband (a human merchant having an affair). He deciphered a cursed letter for a nervous baker.
Through these mundane tasks, Klein gathered intelligence.
The town was dominated by the Church of the God Almighty. It was a monolithic faith. The cathedral in the center of the city wasn't dedicated to a specific domain like "Storm" or "Sun." It was dedicated to the Omnipotent and Omniscient Lord.
Priests wore simple white robes embroidered with a cross. They preached that the Creator walked the land, reclaiming the world from the madness of the Ancient Gods. There was no "Evernight." There was no "Lord of Storms." There was only the Creator and His Angels.
"Here is your payment, Detective," a wealthy Sanguine landowner said, handing Klein a heavy pouch. Klein had successfully recovered a stolen shipment of 'Sun-Kissed Wine' from a group of bandits.
Klein weighed the pouch. "Pleasure doing business."
He walked back to the safehouse, counting his earnings.
50 Golden Riso.20 Silver Riso.70 Bronze Riso.
"A small fortune," Klein mused. "Enough to buy food and materials for a month. Or a very cheap magical item."
Klein unlocked the door with a click of the lock-picking technique he'd retained.
The house was quiet.
The dust motes danced in the last rays of the setting sun.
He walked into the living room and froze.
On the worn-out sofa, the Secretive Plotter was asleep. He sat upright, his arms crossed over his chest, his head tilted slightly back. His coat was dimmed, looking like a simple white trench coat.
And leaning against him, dead to the world, was Kim Dokja. Dokja's head rested comfortably on the Plotter's shoulder. He was drooling slightly on the fabric that contained the weight of a universe.
Klein blinked. He took off his top hat and scratched his head.
'This scene...'
Klein's mind, trained in the art of lampooning, began to spin in circles.
'Kim Dokja calls him "Secretive Plotter." But he also knows he is Yoo Joonghyuk. The 1863rd regression turn.''But Dokja also talks about "his" Yoo Joonghyuk. The one from the 3rd regression? Or was it the current one?'
'So, this Yoo Joonghyuk is Dokja's Yoo Joonghyuk, but not the Yoo Joonghyuk he is used to? But since all Yoo Joonghyuks are Yoo Joonghyuk, isn't he technically sleeping on his favorite character?'
Klein stared at the peaceful, domestic scene of a Constellation using an Outer God as a pillow.
'Wait. If the Plotter is the "Secretive Plotter," and Dokja is the "Reader," does that mean the Reader is reading the Plotter? Or is the Plotter plotting against the Reader's sleep schedule?'
'Is this fan service? Is the Star Will broadcasting this? [The Demon King of Salvation] and [The Secretive Plotter] in a slice-of-life spin-off?'
Klein sighed, a small, genuine smile touching his lips. "They look... peaceful."
He walked quietly to the kitchen, careful not to wake them.
He made himself a cup of tea (using dried herbs he bought in the market).
Sitting at the small table, watching the steam rise, Klein felt a pang of melancholy.
"Hajin is fighting Baal. Dokja is recovering from madness. I am playing detective in the past."
He thought of Melissa. He thought of Benson. He thought of the Tarot Club members back in his time.
"I wish we had more time," Klein whispered to the empty room. "Not as 'The Fool' or 'The Reader' or 'The Author'. Just... as us."
"Maybe, in another life, we could have been best friends. We could have played LoL without the threat of the apocalypse hanging over our heads."
He finished his tea.
He checked the windows.
The wards were holding.
He went to his room, lay down on the bed, and closed his eyes.
Klein didn't dream of his apartment this time.
He dreamt of a confessional.
He was sitting in a small, dark booth.
The air smelled of vanilla and night-blooming flowers.
A screen separated him from the person on the other side.
He couldn't see her face, but he could feel her.
A presence vast, tranquil, and terrifyingly indifferent.
Like the night sky staring down at an ant.
'An intruder,' Klein realized instantly. 'Lucid dreaming active.'
He didn't panic. He sat straighter.
"You noticed me," a voice came from behind the screen. It was soft, feminine, yet carried the weight of a mountain. "It is the first time someone has noticed my arrival so quickly. Even Angels usually slumber until I wake them."
Klein remained silent.
'How does she know I'm aware? Ah. My breathing. My heart rate. I adjusted them too perfectly.'
"You are a cautious one," the woman said. There was a hint of amusement in her tone. "Tell me. Is your name... Sherlock Moriarty?"
Klein hesitated. If he lied, she would know. This was her domain.
"Yes."
"Sherlock Moriarty..." She repeated the name. She tasted it. Her voice trembled slightly. It wasn't anger. It was... disbelief? Nostalgia? "My Nighthawks reported a suspicious man by that name operating in Blood Moon Town."
Klein froze.
'Nighthawks? In the Third Epoch?''The Church of the Evernight Goddess hasn't been established yet. But she... Amanises... she has already created her unit? A secret police force under the nose of the Sun God?'
"Why?" the woman asked. Her voice suddenly lost its indifference. It carried a deep, suppressing emotion that felt like a tidal wave behind a dam. "Why did you choose that name?"
Klein's mind raced.
To the people of this world, "Sherlock Moriarty" was just a random collection of sounds. But to a transmigrator... To someone from Earth... It was a code. A cultural fingerprint.
Klein realized.
"It... sounded intelligent," Klein lied, trying to play dumb. "A detective needs a smart-sounding name."
"Is that so?" The woman chuckled. It was a dark, sad sound. "Sherlock... The detective who solves everything. Moriarty... The criminal who controls everything."
"A name of duality. A name from a time long forgotten."
The screen between them seemed to thin. Klein saw the silhouette of a veil.
"You are not from here, are you?" she whispered. "You smell of the gray fog."
Klein gripped the armrest of the dream-chair.
"Who are you?"
"Me?" The woman paused. "I am merely a listener in the dark."
Then, the pressure in the booth spiked. The scent of vanilla intensified, turning into the scent of Serenity and Concealment.
"But there is something else," she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I feel a blessing on you."
Klein tensed. 'Blessing?'
"It is faint. It is intertwined with your fate. But it is unmistakable." She leaned closer to the screen. He could see the glint of crimson eyes through the mesh.
"It is my blessing."
Klein's heart stopped.
The blessing of the Evernight Goddess.
"I have not blessed you in this era," the woman stated. "Yet you carry my mark. A mark given with great favor."
The dream began to crack. The darkness swirled, preparing to eject him or consume him.
"Who are you, Sherlock Moriarty?" The Goddess asked, her voice echoing with the power of a singularity.