"Then, who is the Lord?" the little girl asked timidly, her voice trembling. "I've never heard of the Lord from my brothers and sisters. Have we been abandoned?"
"No," Mr. A said solemnly. "The Lord never abandons you. You've only been harmed by evil gods and demons. The Lord sent me here to bring war to this land."
"We worship the omniscient, omnipotent God, the Creator of all."
…
"Look, this guy's in a hurry. Heh, he's already hands-on before reaching the alley," a young man snickered, assuming the unnamed girl's gasp meant Mr. A was groping her. "Boss, looks like a South Continent newbie. We'll make good use of him!"
"You're right," a scar-faced man said with a grim smile. "Judging by his look, coming here makes him a lamb for slaughter. Be quick and clean, boys—leave no traces."
"Got it!" the youth said eagerly.
They watched Mr. A and the girl enter the alley, encircling it like hunters stalking prey. They blocked the alley's exit, ready to eliminate both. After all, the girl they'd sent was also a target of their "hunt."
Unbeknownst to them, as they closed their trap, the "prey" they thought was on the chopping block had already bared a feral grin, closing its jaws around them.
To fight evil, pitting one villain against another is often most effective—provided they don't team up against you. Compared to Mr. A, a former national fugitive, these sneaky amateurs were mere small fry.
Their thoughts, motives, and plans were transparent to the seasoned Mr. A. Glancing sidelong, he spotted the youth creeping closer. With his rough hand, he gently held the girl's knife-wielding hand.
"You hesitated," Mr. A said, puzzled. "Little lamb, why won't you stab the knife into me?"
…
"Alright, students, that's all for today. Class dismissed," Klein Moretti said with a courteous smile, nodding to end the day's lecture. Still in his internship, he earned 2 pounds 10 soli weekly.
By month's end, he'd become a full professor, doubling his salary and then some.
Moreover, a professor's main income wasn't the paycheck.
A history professorship at the university was a fast track to networking. Noble heirs didn't attend university to mingle with commoners—it was beneath them. Instead, they hired lecturers and professors for private tutoring at their estates and castles.
Crucially, compared to his former Nighthawk duties, this job was genuinely easy. Klein taught only two classes today, leaving ample time in his office to read various books.
"Professor Moriarty, heading home?"
As Klein left the classroom to pack up in his office, a gentle voice called out.
Turning, Klein saw a middle-aged man in formal attire. This was a mechanical engineering lecturer, lower in rank than a full professor. His surname was Mitchell, and though only a lecturer, faculty here called each other "professor" out of respect.
Klein nodded lightly. "Yes, Professor Mitchell, my classes are done. I'm off to exercise. You know, the body is the capital of revolution."
"I know," Mitchell said naturally. "That's Emperor Roselle's saying, right? I admire Roselle greatly—not just talented but humble. With all his grand inventions, he said he was 'standing on the shoulders of giants.' Tsk, what a modest genius!"
Klein: "…"
"Oh, right," Mitchell said, noticing Klein's helpless expression and scratching his head with an awkward smile. "You've got things to do. Safe travels. Guess I'll handle the new student transfer alone today."
"New student?" Klein asked, curious. "Hasn't the semester long started? Why a new student now?"
"You don't know?" Mitchell smiled. "Rumor is, she's a girl introduced by a board member, slotted in as a transfer student. Even Backlund University sees this kind of thing, let alone our school."
"I see…" Klein's interest piqued. He said to Mitchell, "Professor Mitchell, I'll help. I'm new here and want to learn the school's enrollment process."
"Professor Moriarty," Mitchell said, grasping Klein's hands, visibly moved. "I knew you were a kind, honest, helpful young man. Since you insist, I'll reluctantly pass this task to you… Follow me, I'll show you the transfer process."
Klein froze, then gave a wry smile, feeling thoroughly bamboozled.
He now understood why Mitchell was reluctant to handle the transfer. Board-introduced students were often wealthy or noble—either minor aristocrats' children or merchants' heirs. The transfer process took over an hour, a thankless task for most professors. But since Klein had volunteered, he'd see it through properly.
Sighing, he pushed open the reception hall's door. As he did, he said to the girl seated inside, "Hello, I'm the professor handling your transfer. May we now—"
Klein stopped dead, a suffocating feeling welling in his chest. He stared at the quiet girl on the sofa, his rehearsed words faltering.
The new student was Melissa Moretti.
Hearing the voice at the door cut off, Melissa looked up, puzzled. In the next moment, her hand trembled, and she covered her mouth. A sharp crack rang out as the cup she held shattered on the floor, scalding tea splashing everywhere.
That face was achingly familiar. For over a decade, Melissa had seen it daily. Despite the beard, new hairstyle, and monocle, she knew him instantly.
"We can begin now…" Klein said hoarsely. "My name is Sherlock Moriarty."
Melissa took a deep breath, facing Klein, struggling to steady herself. Even so, her voice carried a tearful quiver: "Please assist with my transfer, Professor Moriarty. I've been waiting here a long time."
She and Benson had waited so long.
Since arriving in Backlund, they'd feared this was a dream, a hopeful illusion crafted by Klein's friends. They dreaded that Klein was already resting beneath the earth.
But seeing Klein's disguised face, Melissa's fears dissolved. In their place bloomed a sweet, comforting warmth, like coming home. Her anxieties about the big city and worries for Klein melted away.
"Alright, Miss Melissa. This way, please."
Klein's lips curved into an exaggerated grin, like a joyful clown.
He opened the door, leading Melissa toward his office.
(End of Chapter)
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