LOM: Lord of Mysticism

Klein opened the door to his room, and before he even stepped inside, he saw a silhouette sitting silently in front of his desk.

"Klein, where did you go?" Melissa asked. "Just now, I got up to go to the bathroom and realized you weren't home."

With great experience at lying, Klein gave a bitter smile and calmly replied, "I couldn't fall asleep again after I woke up. I decided that I should train my body. So I went out to run a few rounds. Look at my sweat!"

"Honestly speaking, Klein, you don't have to stress yourself out. I'm sure you can pass the interview to Tingen University. Even if you can't, er—I mean if—you can still find better ones." Melissa said.

Klein nodded his head and said, "I understand."

Melissa turned around and trotted into the interior of the house. She took out an object that resembled a tortoise. After quickly tightening the torsion spring, Melissa placed the object on the desk.

The "tortoise" moved and jumped with a rhythm that could pull anyone's attention.

"Whenever I feel irritated, I feel much better seeing it move. I've been doing this very often recently, and it's very effective! Klein, give it a try!" Melissa said as her eyes brightened.

Klein approached the "tortoise" and waited for it to stop before laughing. "Simplicity and regularity can indeed help relaxation."

He pointed to the "tortoise" and casually asked, "Did you make this yourself? Why wasn't I aware of it?"

"I made use of unwanted materials from school and picked up things from the streets to make this. It was only finished two days ago," Melissa said in her usual tone.

"That's impressive," Klein praised sincerely.

With her chin slightly raised, Melissa calmly replied, "It was okay."

"Being overly humble is a bad trait," Klein continued. "This is a tortoise, right?"

Instantly, the atmosphere in the room took a great plunge, leaving behind an air of graveness. Melissa faintly replied, "It's a puppet."

Klein gave an awkward smile and tried to explain, "The problem lies in the materials; they're too rudimentary."

"I'll go get some more sleep!" She grabbed her tortoise-like "puppet" and closed the door to her room.

Klein walked towards his desk, sat down, and silently pondered Dunn Smith's invitation.

With me being a transmigrator, "The Fool"—initiator of the mysterious Gathering—and the multiple secrets I have, it will be risky to be under the noses of the Church of Evernight's team that specializes in dealing with matters regarding the Beyonders.

As long as I join Dunn Smith and his team, I would certainly aim to become a Beyonder, and I could then cover up the benefits gained from the Gathering.

Yet, becoming a formal member would entail many restrictions on my freedom, like how a civilian staffer has to report his leaving of Tingen. No longer would I be able to go wherever I want or do whatever I want, and I would miss many opportunities.

The Nighthawks are a strict organization. Once a mission is given, I can only wait for the arrangements and accept orders. There is no room for rejection.

Beyonders also have the risk of losing control.

Having all the disadvantages listed out one by one, Klein turned to considering the necessities and advantages:

Judging from the situation of the luck enhancement ritual, I'm not one of the eighty percent of lucky people. In the future, there is bound to be bizarre events happening to me.

Only by becoming one of the Beyonders or by joining the Nighthawks can I be equipped with the ability to resist.

The wish to become a Beyonder cannot be solely reliant on the Gathering. The potion formula is one thing, but where can I find the corresponding materials? How am I to obtain and concoct them?

It is not possible for me to consult Justice and The Hanged Man on every matter and exchange every object with them. This would only hurt the image of The Fool and arouse their suspicions.

Similarly, I am unable to produce anything that can pique their interest.

Besides, more materials would more often than not leave behind the trail of my real identity.

By joining the Nighthawks, there would definitely be contact with the common knowledge of the world of mystery and relevant channels. This can sufficiently accumulate into a corresponding social circle and can be used as leverage.

Of course, I could also go to an organization that is suppressed by the various Churches, such as the Psychology Alchemists mentioned by Dunn, and join them.

However, I have no idea where to look for them. Even if I manage to gain the corresponding information from The Hanged Man, such rash contact with them could endanger my life.

The inferior recluse hides away in the wild; the superior, the crowd. Perhaps the identity as a Nighthawk can be a better cover.

In the future, when I become one of the top authorities of the tribunal, who would imagine that I am a heretic, the head of the secret organization who is working behind the scenes?

---

As the first rays of the morning sun shone, the crimson disappeared. Gazing at the golden light on the horizon, Klein made up his mind.

He would find Dunn Smith today and become part of the Nighthawk's civilian staff.

Not in a hurry to leave after he finished his breakfast and his sister's departure, Klein took a nap. Based on what he knew, nearly all the pubs were closed in the morning.

At two o'clock in the afternoon, he smoothed the pleats of his silk hat and handkerchief using a small brush.

After ten minutes, the sound of the wheels hitting the tracks approached from a distance, and a double-decker horse carriage stopped in front of the station at Iron Cross Street.

"To Besik Street," Klein said to the carriage driver.

"You have to transfer at Champagne Street, but when you get there, it takes about ten minutes to walk to Besik Street," the carriage driver explained to Klein with regards to the route.

"Let's go to Champagne Street then." Klein nodded in approval.

"It's more than four kilometers, four pence," a young man said as he extended his hand. He was a worker responsible for money collection.

"Okay." Klein fished out four copper coins from his pocket and handed them to the other party. He walked up to the carriage and found that there were not many passengers. Even on the first floor, there were a few empty seats.

On this floor, the men and women were mostly well-dressed, although there were a few clothed in their work clothes. Leisurely reading newspapers, almost no one spoke, and it was rather quiet.

Klein shut his eyes, recharging his strength, oblivious to the coming and going of passengers around him.

Station after station passed until he finally heard the few words "Champagne Street."

After alighting the horse carriage, he inquired along the way and soon reached Besik Street, where he saw the pub with the brownish-yellow hound logo.

Klein reached out and gave a push. The heavy door gradually opened, inundating him with a wave of uproarious noises and an impetuous heat wave.

Although it was still afternoon, there were already many customers in the pub. Some were temporary workers, looking for opportunities here, waiting to be hired. Others were simply idling around, numbing themselves with alcohol.

The pub was dimly lit, and Klein circled along the edge of the alcoholic customers, reaching the front of the bar.

"New here?" the bartender said as he spared Klein a glance while wiping a cup. "One cup of rye beer is a penny. Enmat beer costs two pence. Four pence for Southville beer, or do you want a cup of purely brewed malt Lanti?"

"I came here for Mr. Wright," Klein said directly.

The bartender shouted. "Old Man, someone is looking for you."

"Oh, who…" A slurred voice muttered as an intoxicated old man stood up from behind the bar.

He rubbed his eyes and focused on Klein. "Lad, were you looking for me?"

"Mr. Wright, I have important business and would like to hire a small mercenary squad for a mission," Klein replied, following Dunn's instructions.

"A mercenary squad? Are you living in a storybook? No one does that anymore!" Wright scoffed. "Who told you about this place?"

Without answering, Klein grabbed him by the collar, pulling him forward. "Get me that mercenary squad."

Wright broke out in a cold sweat. "I see… Alright. The squad still exists, but it operates differently now, with a more modern name. You'll find them on the second floor of No. 36 Zouteland Street."

"Thank you," Klein said sincerely and squeezed out the pub.

Klein found his way to the nearby Zouteland Street after asking around.

"30, 32, 34... Here," he counted the house numbers and walked into a stairwell.

Going around the corner and slowly climbing up the stairs, he saw the vertical sign with the current name of the so-called small mercenary squad. "Blackthorn Security Company."