George's attention kept drifting back to the strange space Klein carried with him. Whatever it was, it pulsed with a power that didn't belong in the hands of someone so new to the supernatural world. Ever since George became a magician, he had sensed that his own abilities were faintly resonating with that space, like two instruments humming on the same unseen frequency.
"Yes," Klein said calmly. "I was an ordinary person until a few months ago. I got dragged into a supernatural incident, joined the Night Watchers, and became a diviner not long after."
He didn't hide anything about those months. If you wanted to build trust, you had to let the other person see you clearly. George was on the same path as him. If they got close enough, there was a real chance George might one day trade him information about what lay ahead on that path.
Most Night Watchers followed the shadow-aligned route laid out by the Church of the Night Goddess. From the lowest rank to the very top, every formula and advancement step was mapped out in advance. But the Church didn't only control that one route. It also held fragments of other paths at the lower levels.
That meant a Night Watcher didn't have to follow the standard route. They could choose something else, though anything beyond the early stages would be their own problem to solve. The Church discouraged deviation but never outright banned it. After all, most Night Watchers spent their entire lives stuck at the bottom.
At low levels, variety mattered. Different abilities working together were far more effective than four people with the same powers.
Klein, for instance, could sense danger ahead of time and trace clues through divination. Old Neil specialized in uncovering secrets, with broad but shallow mastery of ritual magic, astrology, and ancient languages. Daly Simone walked the line of death, comfortable among corpses and remnants. One sleepless guardian, one collector of the dead, one seeker of secrets, and one diviner working together would always outperform four sleepless guardians acting alone.
George hadn't chosen the full shadow route for a reason. In the scattered notes left behind by the legendary Roselle, he had discovered hints that the diviner's path might one day offer a way home. Those same notes had taught him how to stabilize his powers through acting, and he was close to fully mastering what he already possessed.
What he lacked was knowledge of what came next. He didn't even know the name of the next stage, let alone how to reach it.
They talked as they walked, passing through several rooms before stepping into an open-air market about the size of a basketball court. Stalls crowded together under the open sky, packed with vendors and curious buyers. Most of them were hobbyists dabbling in the occult, not true practitioners.
For those people, this place was a marketplace of dreams. Some of what they sold really did have value. Moon petals, night-scented herbs, silver dust, citrine, rubies. All basic materials used in rituals or charms.
Finished charms, on the other hand, were mostly worthless. A few worked, barely, only because the materials themselves carried a trace of latent energy.
George didn't buy anything. The materials were too crude to interest him. Even if he wanted to experiment, these would only produce the most rudimentary results.
Besides, when he had interrogated the clown killer, it wasn't a full soul search. He hadn't learned how to craft charms native to this world.
"How much?" Klein asked at one stall, already haggling.
He was clearly fascinated by the materials. Also clearly short on money.
"So this really was a lucky find," George thought, stroking his chin as he watched Klein bargain. "The question is whether he knows what that space of his is actually worth."
After spending time together, George was convinced Klein wasn't some ancient being reborn or a powerful entity wearing human skin. He was exactly what he looked like. A young man, normal for his age.
Which meant that space, vast as a world and heavy with divine power, couldn't possibly be something Klein created himself. It had to be a gift, or a coincidence beyond reason.
What George couldn't tell was whether Klein understood its value, or whether he could even use the power sealed inside it.
"Eight solars. Final price," the vendor said. "No one else sells this. Take it or leave it."
After relentless bargaining, the price dropped from ten to eight. Klein hesitated, then paid. As he pocketed the materials, he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for himself to hear:
"I swear, I want to wipe you out in the name of the moon."
George froze.
Even in the noisy market, his hearing caught every word. The phrase sent a jolt through him. It was a line from an old battle declaration he remembered far too well from his previous life.
That, combined with what he knew about Roselle, made suspicion bloom. Had Klein been cast into this world the same way? Or was he something the Creator deliberately shaped?
That would explain how someone so weak could possess an artifact worthy of gods.
Of course, there were other possibilities. Roselle had left behind plenty of dramatic one-liners. Klein might just be quoting him. Or it might be coincidence. In the creation myths, the moon itself was said to be born from one of the Creator's eyes. As a follower of the Night Goddess and a Night Watcher, a moon-themed threat wasn't entirely strange.
George smiled to himself.
"One test will tell me everything."
As Klein stood up, George called out, "Klein."
"Yes, Mr. George?" Klein turned, puzzled.
George returned the look with an easy smile.
"You're a transmigrator, aren't you?"
No games. No dancing around it.
Just a straight question.