Chapter Twenty-Two: Interlude, To Investigator Beatrice

Metal keys were pressed, gears and drive shafts meshed, and copper typefaces engraved with letters clattered onto the parchment like raindrops falling from the sky.

"Beatrice, I am truly sorry. I am writing to you this time because I need to ask a favor of you."

"What makes me feel even more guilty is that I still cannot tell you too much. You know how it is—I am a Keeper of the Church."

"However, I heard that you have passed the trials and become an investigator... I cannot describe how I felt when I heard the news. You have always been a child who liked to get to the bottom of things since you were small. Well, as you wished, you will be closer to the truth now."

"In short, congratulations. I have been so busy with Church affairs that, despite promising your mother I would look after you, I have not been able to provide much care."

"My own situation is not exactly ideal, especially lately. They say my methods for executing a cultist were too extreme..."

The parchment on the mechanical typewriter reached its end. A pair of hands, composed of gears and various mechanical structures, pulled it out and set it aside. Simultaneously, two other arms, also constructed of machinery, skillfully retrieved a new sheet of parchment, inserted it into the typewriter, and engaged the latch to secure it in place.

The clacking sound began once more.

"They always have too many excuses. They say I offended the factory owners, that this would worsen the relationship between the Empress and the Church... No one cares what those cultists are actually like."

"Damn it, how did the Church become like this!"

The figure in the red hood stopped typing, shook his head, and sighed.

"That was an extremely dangerous cultist; the corruption he brought was terrifying... But fortunately, I have already executed him."

"Yet, some workers were still contaminated. My proposal to purge them all was rejected by the Church's high command; they only agreed to exile these workers."

"That is also my request, Beatrice. Please monitor them for me and ensure that the corruption has been halted and will not spread."

"They will be exiled to the frontier of the Empire, to an island, or so I am told."

"Believe me, Beatrice, being far from the center of the Empire is not a bad thing, especially at a time like this."

"I know you have just become an investigator and want to go on adventures, to see the reality of this world."

"But the dangers of this world have always exceeded your expectations. Some things are a form of corruption just by being spoken of."

"That is the very reason for our existence as Keepers."

"Regardless, stay away from here, stay away from Rhine, stay away from the Empire's borders. The Empress’s ambition is too great; perhaps the entire Empire will be needed to satisfy it."

The fingers tapping on the keyboard paused. The priest sitting at the desk stretched, then reached out toward the teacup on the table.

A pale hand grasped the teacup, which held steaming black tea—a custom that had spread from the New World, where people used a hot cup of tea to soothe their fatigue.

The priest took a small sip of the scalding tea. Behind him, the mechanical arms switched to screwdrivers amidst a whir of gears, expertly opening several mechanical access panels on his body.

Another arm picked up machine oil and injected it into the pre-drilled holes beneath the panels.

The priest set down the teacup and leaned over the desk to continue typing.

Meanwhile, the mechanical arms on his back never ceased their work, swiftly performing maintenance on the mechanical parts of his body with precision and silence.

"Stay on that island for a while; it is very safe there."

"Do not slack off on your mission, either. Keep an eye on those contaminated workers. If they show any abnormalities, let me know immediately."

"If the corruption becomes uncontrollable, do not hesitate—execute the purification protocol at once."

"Do not harbor any wishful thinking, do not hesitate, and do not be deceived by appearances. Many cultists do not look evil; some are even genuinely kind by nature, but that does not prevent them from endangering the world."

The priest's movements stopped again. He seemed to be thinking of something, lost in quiet recollection.

After a long while, he let out a long sigh.

His pale fingers picked up the teacup, only to realize after a sip that the tea had gone cold.

He shook his head and returned to his typing.

The mechanical arms behind him had lifted his robe and begun cleaning dust from the pipes running along his thighs.

His skin was deathly pale, making the metal components embedded within it appear even colder and more rigid.

"You need not worry about me, either. The Church has arranged an administrative leave for me. I will find a place with beautiful scenery to recuperate for a while—well, to lay low."

"I have not decided exactly where to go yet. Perhaps I will go to the Northern Territories to take a look. They say there are unique folk customs there, and recently, some ancient ruins were supposedly unearthed from underground."

The priest scratched the skin on his back as the mechanical arms began wiping the bolts along his spine.

"Perhaps one becomes long-winded with age, but I will still warn you of a few things."

"You may not understand the following, which is fine. Just remember it; perhaps there will be a moment when you need it."

"When you have time, read the doctrines more often. Not just those of the Candlelight Society, but the scriptures of the other four major churches as well... The Church may withhold information, but it does not lie."

"When reason fails to help you judge, trust your intuition."

"Human beings can be trusted. Believe in humanity."

"Everything else—all that is not human—cannot be trusted, whether it be living creatures, machinery, or..."

The priest’s typing fingers paused. Ultimately, he did not continue typing; instead, he pulled the parchment and switched to a new line.

"No matter how friendly or reliable they may seem, do not trust them."

"Remember, the underlying color of this world is, and always will be, madness."

The mechanical arms seemed to be finishing their work; they climbed up to the priest's neck and tightened several screws embedded in his flesh.

The priest's letter reached its end. He typed the final line of the signature.

"Archbishop of the Rhine Diocese, Level Seven Priest of the Candlelight Society, Member of the 'Keeper' Council..."

The priest’s fingers paused. He then pulled the pressure spring of the typewriter, removed the parchment from the slot, crossed out the long signature, put it back, and re-typed the closing.

"Your uncle, Jules."

He removed the parchment, folded it into a letter, dripped sealing wax, and used a signet to press the seal.

The wax featured a lit candle—the holy emblem of the Candlelight Society.

After completing this, the priest sat at the desk in a daze, the candlelight flickering beside him.

After a while, he seemed to suddenly remember something and slapped his forehead.

"Almost forgot this. Truly, I am getting old."

Following his movement, a crack appeared in the center of his skull, which then split apart to both sides.

Inside the cranium, there was no flesh or blood, but rather a chaotic array of steel parts, pipes flowing with various fluids, and rotating mechanical structures—all of which had replaced his original brain.

The mechanical arms immediately reached in, tightening screws, applying oil, and performing maintenance.