Lord of the Mysteries

Three in the afternoon at the Dock Union in East Balam Dock.

Klein wore a thick sweater, a tan jacket, and a simple cap that brought him closer to the usual investigative reporters in style rather than the ones who attended banquets and interviewed people of status from time to time. Such a costume had cost him an extra 1 pound 10 soli.

At that moment, he was wearing gold-rimmed glasses, and his hair was neatly combed back, gleaming with the luster of hair oil. His face no longer had a messy beard, so he could only plaster a deep-black stubble around his lips. His height was at least five centimeters taller than before. He was trying his best to look different from the worker from last night, making it impossible for anyone who wasn’t particularly familiar with him to make any associations.

In the pockets of his clothes and trousers, there was no All-Black Eye, no charms or herbal essential oils. There was only a deck of tarot cards, a stack of notes, a fountain pen, a wallet, some change, a bunch of keys, and false reporter identification documents.

He didn’t know the Lanevus’s current condition, nor did he know where the powerful Beyonder lingering around him came from. Hence, out of precaution, he didn’t bring any suspicious items.

Looking at the two-story building ahead of him, Klein crossed the street, pretending to not rely on the Clown’s intuition to notice that several pairs of eyes were watching him.

He pushed open the door and saw that the Dock Union’s layout was rather simple. There were no female receptionist or spacious lobbies. The stairs to the second floor were in the middle, flanked by office corridors, and the floors weren’t lined with wooden planks, much less carpet. They were paved purely out of cement.

Klein turned his head to look at the man guarding by the door as he went over and said, “I’m a reporter from the Backlund Daily Tribune. I would like to interview the workers of your association and get to know your needs and desires.”

The man was wearing a very patched jacket which even had dirty cotton lining exposed and a linen shirt underneath.

After hearing the word “reporter,” he suddenly became vigilant and replied loudly, “No! We haven’t organized a strike lately, no!”

“I think you’ve misunderstood me. I’m someone who sympathizes with you. I’m planning on doing a special report on what the union does to help the workers and the actual difficulties they encountered. Trust me.” With the help of his Clown Beyonder powers, Klein made his eyes look abnormally sincere.

“Is that so… Go to Mr. Rand, our committee member in charge of publicity. Turn right, and it’s the second office on the right,” The man hesitated for a few seconds before replying.

“Thank you.” Klein bowed with feigned relief, and he felt the gaze observing him from a dark corner of the room vanish.

He turned to his right and, with his back perspiring in cold sweat, knocked on the office door.

The door creaked open. A middle-aged man with sparse hair looked at him and asked, “May I know who you are?”

“Mr. Rand? I’m Reporter Statham from the Backlund Daily Tribune. This is my reporter identification documents. I’d like to make a report with unions as the theme to help you acquire more attention.” Klein almost believed he was a journalist.

“That’s me.” The middle-aged man looked at the reporter’s identification documents and said hesitatingly, clearly unwillingly, “It’s hard for me to believe that you reporters are here to help us.”

“I was born in East Borough, and I know how miserable the lives of the workers are. If you don’t believe me, you can follow me the entire time and monitor my every question.” Klein suddenly smiled and added, “A report with actual interview data would be better than nothing, far better than news that’s written purely based on imagination. At least you can provide your views and hopefully guide things in the direction you want.”

Rand touched his scalp and replied hesitantly, “Alright then…

you the

lost control of his

another, interviewing

nothing… Klein calmly went up the wooden stairs

Rand led him into the office directly opposite the staircase and introduced the

of you, but I have to remind you that there are some questions which you

smiled, took two steps forward, and made a gesture to shake hands

that moment, he saw

become angular, and his glasses had changed from a round frame to a gold-rimmed

body trembled, and the smile on

the washroom is?” Klein asked with an awkward smile, holding his stomach with the hand

to the door and said, “Go

apologetically and walked out of the room,

cubicle closest to the window, sat on the toilet, and locked the wooden

mouth curving into a silent laugh. He laughed so hard he nearly couldn’t

confirmed that it

but because he felt another type of aura from the other party’s body, one that left an extremely

was also the main reason why he had nearly lost

body originated

the horror and

that was… That was the

…

if nothing had happened. Even while facing Lanevus, who had somehow changed so much, he continued to ask questions and record the

all of this, he bade farewell to the workers’ association and walked out of the dimly

misty, as if

well as things that extend from the two. For example, items bestowed by “Him,” or “His” godhood… This corroborates with what Lanevus said to Hood Eugen. In addition, there’s that tinge of familiarity. I didn’t even need to go above the gray fog for divination to confirm that it’s him… If it wasn’t for me having already interacted with the True

the street and

a glimpse of a slightly familiar figure among

made a guess

didn’t stop, and he put away the notes before walking towards

moment, a horse carriage suddenly stopped in

a thin, elegant, middle-aged gentleman with white hair at his temples. He was

usual. He was just a

a coincidence, I was just thinking about the last time I