Love That Transcends Millennia

Chapter 2: The Detective’s Last Words

"This will, and these demands, are off. I can tell something's wrong just by hearing it."

There wasn't much expression on Shade's face as he sat by the bedside, holding the detective's hand. But he knew clearly—the detective had accurately foreseen his own death, and before dying, he had taken in a mentally impaired vagrant and even left behind all his possessions, all for one request that seemed simple at first glance. But Shade was certain: this simple request would not be simple at all.

The detective was likely not just a detective. But the Shade who occupied this new body wasn’t the same person as before either. Even if the original Shade hadn’t known the truth, the "newcomer" Shade—being from another place—understood clearly that he should not get involved in something that screamed "off," or else…

"If you don't agree, I can guarantee that after I die, you won't get a single penny from me. None of this will belong to you. You’ll return to your old life—a vagrant with no gas lamps, no fireplace, no three meals a day, not even a bed. You’ll be right back where you started."

But Shade had no choice but to agree. In this world, he had nothing. Between the option of becoming a vagrant and starting over with nothing, or getting involved in a troublesome matter that might bring in wealth, Shade knew neither choice was ideal. But he had to pick one.

Besides, by standing here and hearing these words, he had already been dragged into this. Leaving now would be impossible. Shade knew when to read the room and how to assess his own situation.

"Still, I wonder... Is Mr. Spiro Hamilton's death related to the supernatural? Is it linked to the voice in my head?"

He pondered this, but couldn’t come to a further conclusion. Just then, the voice in his head returned:

[It's related to the supernatural. He died because of an item known as a "heirloom." This has nothing to do with you.]

The voice, as elegant as always, answered calmly. Though the information was brief, its soft whispers still felt as though they were reciting poetry.

"An 'heirloom'?"

In the ancient and elegant language used by the woman, this was a specialized term. Different languages carry different amounts of information, and in the language she used, the term was heavily loaded with meaning, implying things like "sealed object," "contained item," or "cursed artifact."

Shade was glad he understood the language. From the context, he deduced the meaning: "a special item that can wield supernatural power but is extremely dangerous."

This gave Shade a rather grim suspicion about this world.

"So, who exactly are you?" he asked in his mind.

The voice didn’t clarify the term. Shade reflected on its answer, realizing that the voice was capable of thinking for itself.

[I'm you.]

The whisper answered softly, sending a chill down Shade’s spine.

Shade hummed lightly, knowing for certain that this body was male, and the voice in his head was not the original owner’s.

Looking at the bedside lamp casting a dim glow on the lifeless, terrifying skin of the man lying in bed, Shade spoke:

"I understand, sir."

"Shade, I have ten minutes to live. If you have any other questions, ask them now."

The detective's words were profound, and his tone was heavy with exhaustion. But Shade understood: If the detective was telling the truth, then the next set of questions would be crucial to his future in this world. He had to be cautious.

"Your death doesn’t seem ordinary."

The detective's voice, though strained and slow, still conveyed his effort to sound as though his mind wasn’t fully working, which made speaking hard. The first question concerned the circumstances of his death, and Shade had to ensure that the cause of the detective’s death wouldn’t drag him into trouble.

"We never talked about this, but I know you’ve been worried about it. I’ll die soon, and I know it may frighten you, but don’t worry. My death won’t involve you. I need you to complete a task in three months, so I can assure you of this. The person who killed me won’t appear again. After all, we're just ordinary people. We're not worth their attention."

The information was useful. The man lying on the bed didn’t seem to be hiding anything.

"Ordinary... people?"

Shade hesitated for a moment.

"You don't need to know. I don't fully understand it myself. There are the Circles of Sorcerers who wield the four elements—Miracle, Enlightenment, Profanity, and Whispers—then the five main churches of the gods and the three major magical academies. Forget what I just said, and you'll live better. Remember, you don't know anything."

The man on the bed emphasized this, and Shade nodded, absorbing the strange new terms.

"Okay, I don’t know anything."

He suspected that "Circles of Sorcerers" referred to the practitioners of the supernatural in this world, and the terms "Miracle," "Enlightenment," "Profanity," and "Whispers" were elements of a supernatural power system. The five godly churches and three magical academies were likely the major forces controlling the supernatural in this world.

A regular detective couldn’t possibly know this much. Hamilton, the detective, had a lot of secrets.

But Shade didn’t press further. He knew he had to use the limited time he had to get the detective to willingly share more information, not by playing a game of trying to catch lies.

"After your death, how should I live? I don’t understand detective work, and I don’t know much."

Though time was pressing, he couldn’t speak any faster. Not only because he was pretending to be slow, but also because Shade was still struggling with the language. This race, where he could only walk instead of run, left him feeling frustrated. But he couldn’t show that frustration, which only made it worse in his mind.

"It’s alright. What I’ve taught you will be enough. Just stay here for three months. After that, sell everything and go live in the countryside. It’s a better life for you there. You can live peacefully. The cost of living is much lower."

The man, clearly exhausted, didn’t finish his sentence, but Shade had no memories of the past. He didn’t know what the detective had taught him. He turned to the voice in his head for help, but it didn’t respond.

"Do you have anything else you need to tell me?"

This was Shade's third question, asked after much deliberation.

"Remember what I’ve told you these past three months. Remember the simple tasks I’ve left in the memorandum. You can try doing them to keep the detective agency running. Also, this card in my diary."

The frail man pointed weakly to the bedside. He released Shade’s hand, and Shade bent down to pick up the diary. The brown leather cover was held shut with a magnetic clasp, and the diary was well-preserved.

Shade handed the diary to Hamilton, but the man shook his head. He could hardly speak anymore.

So, Shade opened the diary himself and flipped through it. Each page had a different date, and both sides of the pages had been written on. Most of the pages contained short notes like "No news today, the savings are running low," while some recorded progress on cases the agency had taken up.

When he reached the middle of the diary, he flipped through the pages until the sound of rustling stopped, revealing a hard card tucked inside. Shade made no effort to raise an eyebrow as he saw the card—a small, rectangular piece, about the size of a palm.

The surface of the card felt like it had been coated in a thin layer of transparent wax, protecting it from environmental damage. However, as he stroked it, it felt more like transparent skin. For some reason, Shade suddenly thought of human skin.

The card wasn’t thick, but in the dim light of the room, Shade could make out its features.

The back of the card appeared to have abstract patterns of the sun, moon, and stars, stacked together in a strange design. The front depicted a woman seated sideways on a high stool, holding the moon with one hand. Her silver hair and the curve of her smile were visible, her robes flowing down. The colors were simple—black and white, with some cold tones mixed in.

In the top right corner, the number "3" was marked. On the left, a small sun symbol appeared. Between them, right in the center of the top of the card, was a white circle with a black vertical line through it.

At the bottom of the front of the card, below the woman’s image, there was a line of small writing:

[When using this card, the number can be adjusted between 1 and 5.]

The card seemed a little worn, with minor damages visible under the light. It was clear that the owner had taken great care in preserving it.

Shade understood the words on the card, just as he could understand the voices of the man and woman speaking.

"How strange," he thought to himself. "After crossing over, I can understand and read, but I can’t speak the language."

He muttered softly, asking:

"What is this?"

"It’s a very valuable card," the voice answered. "It’s part of a standard deck of 54 playing cards, used in the game of Roder Cards. This one is the ‘Sun 3’ card, a special edition, rare and highly collectible. It’s very valuable. Keep it safe in the diary, don’t get it wet, don’t fold it, and don’t show it to others unless absolutely necessary. But if you’re in a bind, take it to the Birmingham Collection in Tobesque City. They’ll know its value. The Roder card, my most important collection."

Shade nodded, mentally noting the name "Roder Cards." He understood it was a common card game in this world, and that the "Sun 3" card was like a commemorative coin or stamp. He tucked the card back into the diary, noting that while it was delicate, the world’s manufacturing abilities seemed advanced enough to create such items.

"Sir, is there anything else you need to say?"

Shade asked again. Getting the man to speak voluntarily was better than him asking more questions.

"Shade..."

Hamilton, holding Shade’s hand once more, looked at him with a softer gaze:

"I know I’ve never been a good person, but I’m truly sorry for getting you involved. After three months, leave Tobesque City. A capital like this isn’t right for you. But if you understand, you’ll see that pulling you out of the life of a vagrant was the right choice. You’re not very bright, so remember, never trust anyone too easily. Especially those who try to get you to part with money. I’ve already arranged my burial in the Tobesque Public Cemetery, and the undertaker will come for me soon. You don’t need to follow. Stay here for three months and live according to what I taught you."

"Shade, I’m sorry... good luck."