A wave of restless emotion surged through Klein's chest after hearing Dunn's final words.
"Why?" he blurted, before he could stop himself.
Beyonders have hidden dangers…?
So serious that even the Church's own judiciary, and the very Beyonders who fight the bizarre, are themselves at risk?
Dunn stepped into the carriage and sat back, his posture unchanging, his tone as calm as before.
"This isn't something you need to understand," he said. "Nor is it something you can understand—unless you become one of us."
Klein stared for a moment, momentarily at a loss. Then he sat down opposite Dunn, his voice carrying a half-jesting edge.
"If I can't understand until I join, then how am I supposed to decide whether to join at all?"
It felt like a loop with no exit. If he didn't join, he couldn't understand—and without understanding, how could he choose to join?
Dunn took out his pipe again, pressing the bowl to his nose and inhaling its scent before answering.
"You may have misunderstood. A civilian staff member is one of us, too."
"In other words," Klein said carefully, reorganizing his thoughts aloud, "if I become a civilian staff member, I'll be able to learn the relevant secrets—understand the risks Beyonders face, what dangers come with the job—and only then decide whether I want to become one myself?"
Dunn's lips curved faintly. "That's about right. Except for one thing—you can't become a Beyonder simply because you want to. Every Church is extremely strict about that."
It would be strange if they weren't, Klein thought dryly, before leaning forward with exaggerated emphasis.
"What about civilian staff, then? Surely that's also a strict process?"
"There shouldn't be any problems if it's you," Dunn said with half-lidded eyes, a relaxed expression crossing his face as he once again lifted the pipe, though he didn't light it.
"Why?" Klein asked, genuinely puzzled—though inwardly, he couldn't help a wry thought:
Ah, so my 'transmigrator halo' shines bright even here. Truly dazzling, like a firefly in the night.
Dunn opened his eyes fully, the silver-gray within calm as moonlight.
"First, you survived that ordeal without our help. That alone says a lot. Exceptional qualities like that are rare. For instance—luck. And lucky people are always welcome."
Klein's face went blank. Dunn smiled faintly.
"All right, think of that as a joke. Second, you're a history graduate from Khoy University. That's something we sorely need."
He leaned back, his tone growing more thoughtful. "Though I personally despise the Church of the Storms' views on women, their Saint Leumi had sharp insights into society, humanity, and politics. He once said that talent is the cornerstone of competitive advantage and progress. I agree wholeheartedly."
Klein frowned slightly. Dunn caught it and explained casually, "We often encounter relics and documents from the Fourth Epoch or earlier. Cults and heretics constantly seek power from them. Sometimes, the artifacts themselves are enough to cause disaster.
"Unfortunately, most of us aren't scholars. Many are long past the age of serious study." He tapped his temple with a dry smile. "Dry, dusty knowledge tends to put us to sleep—even the Sleepless can't resist."
He chuckled softly at his own joke before continuing, "We used to cooperate with historians and archaeologists, but that was too dangerous. Secrets risked exposure, and those professors often ended up… unfortunate. So having a professional within our own ranks is far safer."
Klein nodded slowly, absorbing the logic. After a pause, he asked, "Then why not just train someone directly?"
Dunn's smile faded into something more solemn. "That brings me to the third—and most important—reason. You've already been through a supernatural incident. Recruiting you doesn't violate confidentiality.
"To bring in others without that background would place full responsibility for exposure on me. And, generally speaking, most of our civilian members come from within the Church."
Klein sat quietly for a long moment, then asked, "Why keep things so secret? Wouldn't it help to let more people know? Awareness could prevent similar tragedies. People fear what they don't understand—so make the unknown known."
Dunn shook his head. "No. Humanity's stupidity is beyond imagination. The moment such things become known, imitation begins. Curiosity turns to obsession, obsession to chaos—and soon, disaster follows."
Klein nodded thoughtfully. "The only lesson humans learn from history," he said softly, "is that humans never learn from history—and repeat the same tragedies."
Dunn's expression softened. "That quote from Emperor Roselle is rather philosophical."
Roselle said that? Klein almost choked. Come on senior, did you have to take everything? Never thought of leaving anything for those who may come after?
Dunn turned toward the window. The yellow lamplight outside rolled past them, melting into a blur of gold and shadow—a civilization's quiet pulse in the night.
"There's a similar argument in the judiciary of the major Churches," he murmured. "It might be the main reason for all this secrecy—and for keeping the masses ignorant."
"What argument?" Klein asked, curiosity lighting his eyes. It felt like he was catching a glimpse of forbidden truth.
Dunn's lips twitched, the barest hint of movement.
"Faith and fear bring trouble," he said slowly. "More faith and more fear bring greater trouble—until everything collapses."
He let out a quiet sigh. "Aside from praying for divine blessing, humanity can't solve its greatest problems on its own."
Klein repeated the words silently. Faith and fear bring trouble… more faith and more fear bring greater trouble…
But he couldn't quite grasp it. The thought lingered like a shadow, deep and cold.
Outside, the streetlamps flickered by. Each light cast a dark silhouette behind it—tall, shifting, like invisible eyes watching from the edge of the night. Klein felt a chill run down his back, the kind that made silence feel alive.
Then the sound of hooves broke the stillness. The carriage wheels clattered forward, and Dunn's voice cut through the darkness.
"Would you like to join us as a civilian staff member?"
Klein's thoughts scattered in all directions. It was too much to decide in one moment. "Can I have some time to think?" he asked finally.
"Of course," Dunn said easily. "Just give me your answer before Sunday. And remember—keep everything secret. Tell no one about Welch, not even your family. If you break that rule, it won't just bring them trouble. You might end up in a special court."
"Understood," Klein said gravely.
The carriage fell silent again. Only the rhythmic beat of hooves filled the air.
When they neared Iron Cross Street, Klein stirred from his thoughts. "Mr. Smith," he said hesitantly, "what kind of salary and benefits do civilian staff receive?"
A perfectly serious question—though his timing made Dunn chuckle. "You won't need to worry about that. Our funding comes jointly from the Church and the police department. For new civilian staff, the weekly salary is two pounds and ten soli, with an additional ten soli as risk and confidentiality allowance—so, three pounds in total. That's about the same as a confirmed university lecturer.
"From there, your pay will rise with experience and merit. The standard contract is five years. When it ends, you can leave if you wish, though you'll sign a lifetime confidentiality agreement and remain in Tingen unless granted permission to move. If you do move, you'll register with the local Nighthawks."
He paused, then added with faint amusement, "Oh—and there are no weekends. We work in shifts. Three civilian staff must always be on duty. If you want a vacation to the South or Desi Bay, you'll need to coordinate it yourself."
As Dunn finished, the carriage slowed to a stop. The apartment building where Klein and his siblings lived loomed in the dim yellow light.
"I understand," Klein said, stepping down from the carriage. He turned back. "By the way, Mr. Smith—if I decide to join, how will I find you?"
Dunn's answer came with a deep, throaty laugh. "Go to the Hound Pub on Besik Street. Find the owner, Wright, and tell him you want to hire a small mercenary squad for a mission."
"Huh?" Klein blinked, bewildered.
"Our location is confidential too," Dunn said, smiling. "Until you officially join, I can't tell you directly. Well then, Mr. Klein Moretti—may the Goddess grant you a good dream tonight."
Klein removed his hat and gave a small salute. He stood by the curb, watching as the carriage disappeared down the lamplit street, its rhythmic clatter fading into the dawn.
He took out his pocket watch. Click. It opened with a soft snap.
A little past four in the morning.
The air was cool, fresh. The dim yellow light of the lamps stretched thin across the street, painting the world in sleepy gold.
Klein drew a long breath and stood still, letting the silence settle over him.
The city, so noisy and alive by day, lay dead quiet now. A different world entirely—empty, weightless, haunted by memory.
Only then did he realize that his back was drenched in cold sweat.