The visitor was a man in a dark green postman uniform. He smiled ingratiatingly at Klein:
“Is this Mr. Sherlock Moriarty?”
“Yes.” Klein had a vague idea of what he was there for.
The visitor immediately raised his right hand and handed over a palm-sized object wrapped in layers of black gauze:
“Your package. Please sign for it.”
Klein deliberately showed his confusion:
“Shouldn’t you usually give me a slip and let me pick it up at the post office myself?”
The Rune Kingdom’s postal system was a perfect copy of Intis’s, including many of its flaws. Any mail that couldn’t be stuffed into a mailbox, no matter what it was, they would only leave a “pick-up slip” and let the recipient do the running.
“…Haha, since it’s valuable, I have to personally deliver it to you.” The postman paused for a moment.
Looks like you’re not a professional, not a real postman… Klein didn’t ask further. He took the package, pen, and slip, quickly signed, and handed them back.
After closing the door and returning to the living room, he didn’t rush to open the package. Instead, he took out a gold coin and tossed it into the air like a juggler.
Smack!
Klein caught the coin and looked down to see whether it was heads or tails.
Tails up, indicating negation, no hidden danger… Klein nodded, put away the coin, felt the paper man in his pocket, and carefully started to unwrap the package.
Layer after layer of black gauze was removed, revealing clearly the items inside: a pale gold pocket watch with elegant engravings, a handkerchief stained with dark blood, seven or eight short brown curly hairs tied together, and a stack of sticky notes.
Talim’s personal items, hair, flesh and blood, daily records, all here… Prince Edsac works fast; it’s not even evening yet… Klein looked at the things spread out on the coffee table and suddenly felt that at this moment many eyes were watching him.
An ancient angel family with a heritage of over two thousand years—their resources were absolutely beyond imagination. Getting involved in royal strife could grind you to dust at any moment… Perhaps I’m already under surveillance… I must appear sufficiently mediocre and useless to ensure my safety… Klein had already thought about what to do. He calmly began to examine the pocket watch, handkerchief, and hair.
Throughout the process, his spiritual intuition gave no warning, nor did it prevent him from performing divination.
Feeling a bit more confident, Klein, in the living room, took out a sheet of letter paper, picked up a pen, and wrote down the divination phrase:
“The true cause of Talim Dumont’s death.”
He behaved generously and frankly, as if he didn’t think he was being monitored.
Picking up the curls and handkerchief, Klein silently repeated the divination phrase, leaned back against the sofa, his eyes deepening, and entered meditation.
After seven repetitions, he arrived at the dream world and saw the familiar hall of the Cragg Club.
Then he witnessed again Talim Dumont clutching his heart and falling with a twisted expression.
“Such a revelation indicates that Talim indeed died of a sudden heart disease…” Klein opened his eyes and muttered quietly.
He frowned, looking puzzled and contemplative.
He tried several times with different divination phrases and got the same result.
He stood up, paced back and forth several times.
He punched himself in the head, seemingly angry at his own lack of ability to help his friend find the real murderer.
Finally, he sat down dejectedly, motionless for a long time, in the dim room like the silhouette of a stone statue.
That’s enough, don’t overdo it… If no one is watching, I’ve just been fighting windmills… Klein shook his head with self-mockery and walked toward the kitchen.
After dinner, he seemed to have perked up again. He carefully read the contents of the sticky notes, which recorded what Talim had done and whom he saw on the day of his death and the previous few days.
Home, Red Rose Manor, Cragg Club, Viscount Conrad’s mansion… nothing unusual… Klein took a sharpened pencil, drew several circles, and marked the places to visit and people to question in the next few days.
After doing all this, he let out a long sigh, packed up the items without much confidence, washed up, and went to sleep.
In the middle of the night, when the crimson moon was hidden by clouds, Klein suddenly opened his eyes and woke up.
He turned over and got out of bed, slowly opened the door, entered the adjacent bathroom, and used the paper man stand-in to conceal his true body.
Taking four steps backward, he rose above the Gray Fog and sat in the seat belonging to “The Fool.”
His eyes became clear, free from dejection, frustration, and pessimism.
Then, Klein took out from the hidden pocket of his pajamas (made from old clothes) the projection of the blood-stained handkerchief.
When he had previously packed up the items, using the “Magician” ability, he had secretly extracted the handkerchief and concealed it on his person.
Taking a breath, Klein manifested pen and paper and wrote the same divination phrase as at the beginning:
“The true cause of Talim Dumont’s death.”
After silently repeating it seven times with a calm and peaceful mind, holding the paper and handkerchief, he leaned back in his chair and fell deeply asleep in the silent, empty ancient palace.
In the gray, fragmented, illusory world, Klein saw a completely different scene from before.
What appeared before his eyes was a palm-sized wooden puppet, seemingly carved hastily, complete with eyes, nose, and mouth.
There were a few drops of dark red blood on the puppet, giving it a somewhat eerie color.