North District, St. Samuel's Cathedral.
A mass was underway.
"They are naked, without clothing or food, exposed to the cold with no shelter."
A clergyman stood at the pulpit before the holy emblem, darkness wrapped around him, the glow of starlight tracing his outline.
His features were hard to make out; only his voice, gentle and clear, echoed through the cathedral.
"They are drenched by heavy rain, and having nowhere to take shelter, they cling to the bare rock."
"They are mothers whose children have been taken from them, they are orphans who have lost all hope, they are the poor driven from the righteous path."
Rows of pews faced the pulpit, filled with people, heads bowed, listening to the bishop's sermon.
Among them were both well-dressed gentlemen and ladies and plainly dressed common folk. The poorer among them looked visibly more devout, clutching their crude holy emblems tightly as the preacher's voice carried on.
Silas stood on the second floor, looking down over the crowd.
He had blended into the darkness.
"The Night has not abandoned them, but has granted them its care."
"The Night cherishes them, and has given them peace..."
The cathedral's architecture was crafted with some skill, allowing the sound to echo and layer upon itself, rolling through everyone's ears.
The clergyman was also skilled at preaching, with well-judged pacing and emotional delivery. It was hard not to feel a kind of spiritual resonance with him.
Silas looked down at them, head lowered.
Even now, as one of the church's senior figures, he still held no faith of his own.
And yet it was undeniable that, in this moment, everyone below him was equal: from the wealthy to the common folk, all received the same measure of the Goddess's care.
Perhaps, to him, there was no real difference between believers.
The Goddess did not concern herself with the social standing of her followers, but the church, to some extent, had to, since it depended on the financial support of the faithful.
The mass had ended, and people began rising to their feet.
Those with some means could step forward without hesitation and place money in the donation box, while the poorer among them had little to give, some nothing at all.
Among the congregation, one especially generous wealthy man drew everyone's attention. The middle-aged gentleman, cultivated in bearing, placed a large ten-pound note into the collection box.
Under the gaze of the clergyman, whose eyes had grown remarkably gentle, he smiled, nodded in acknowledgment, then turned and left the cathedral.
As he stepped out, whether by intention or not, the distinguished-looking man raised his head slightly, his deep, dusky blue eyes turning toward the second floor.
There was only darkness there, nothing visible at all.
He soon lowered his head again and walked out of the cathedral grounds.
As though simply out for a stroll, he walked at an easy pace through two or three blocks of streets before stopping in front of a square.
There, he sat down on a bench, a relaxed smile on his face, gazing absently at the white doves in the square.
He looked, for all the world, like a man who'd grown tired from walking and was taking a short rest.
Shhk.
The shadow of the bench shifted, then deepened into something thicker and darker.
"Thank you for your support of our church."
Silas's voice, tinged with amusement, drifted out from the shadow. "Do try to donate a bit more next time."
"That was already plenty."
The middle-aged man laughed as well. "I'm not exactly like some captain out there, making big deals at sea every day."
There was no mistaking it: this was Klein.
Ever since the great smog, Silas and Klein had each gone their separate ways out to sea. Now, the two fellow transmigrators had reunited once more in Backlund.
"It's still a bit close to the cathedral here. Let's head to my place first."
After that small joke, Silas settled back into a calmer tone and went on, "It's on Crescent Street in the North District..."
"All right."
Klein said no more, rose to his feet, walked to the roadside, hired a carriage, and gave the driver the address Silas had provided.
A short while later, Klein stood in front of the lavish house, his expression showing a touch of astonishment.
"Aren't you living rather extravagantly? A house this nice, how much must it have cost?"
He asked, almost without thinking.
"Didn't cost anything."
Silas pushed open the iron gate to the courtyard and walked forward.
In his palm, gathered shadow took the shape of a key, which he slid into the lock on the front door, turning it open before leading Klein inside.
"Didn't cost anything?"
Taking in the understated yet luxurious furnishings within, Klein found it hard to believe. "How is that even possible?"
Whoever had provided the house, they must be remarkably generous. Fancy being willing to let someone else live in such a fine house for free. "A friend of mine here in Backlund lent it to me for the time being."
Silas explained.
"...Miss Justice?"
"Mm."
That would explain it, then.
Klein nodded, seeming to have worked something out. He sat down on the sofa, and at once his whole body sank into its overly plush cushions.
As they spoke, the shadow beneath Silas's feet rippled, and a moment later Luna leapt out from within.
Seeing the unfamiliar Klein, she showed no great surprise, greeting him instead with easy confidence: "Meow~"
Perhaps it was a Seer's natural intuition; Luna had already seen through this stranger's appearance to grasp his true nature.
"Long time no see, Luna."
Klein greeted her with a smile as well, reaching out to pick her up and stroke her smooth black fur.
"What would you like to drink?"
Silas's voice came from the kitchen. "I've got some fine Earl Grey and Blue Mountain coffee here."
"Tea, then."
Klein said.
"Sure thing. I'll give it a try. To be honest, I don't really know much about this, haven't had much occasion to drink it. If I mess up the brewing and waste the leaves, I hope you won't mind."
Silas said, entirely unconcerned.
"...Plain water will do, then."
Klein said.
A moment later, two glasses of plain water sat before them, and the two men looked at each other across the table.
"Let's start by sharing our new identities, get properly introduced, so to speak."
Silas spoke first. "Ahab Ishmael, the church's newly appointed Senior Deacon."
"Dwayne Dantes, a mysterious wealthy man returned from the southern continent.
Officially, his fortune was built up through business dealings. In truth, though, it was accumulated over years working as an adventurer."
Klein shared his own character background as well, his backstory noticeably more elaborate than Silas's.
"Dwayne... The Count of Monte Cristo?"
"That's right. Ahab Ishmael, from Moby-Dick?"
"Exactly."
The two men exchanged a look and both broke into laughter.
Well, this was quite the pairing: classic against classic.
"So how's it going, the Aurora Order matter?"
Klein asked eagerly, unable to wait, reaching out to wrap his hands around the warm cup of water.
"I've already secured the church's backing."
Silas answered. "I can call on personnel and sealed items both. Dealing with that bunch of cultists should be a sure thing now."
"I see..."
Klein sounded a touch disappointed at this, since it meant there'd be no real need for him to step in and help.
"What are you thinking?"
Silas glanced at him. "I'm still going to need you."
If the church hunted down every single target, all the spoils would have to be handed over to them.
But if a portion of the prey happened to "accidentally" slip away, to be picked up by someone else, well, that would be entirely out of the church's hands.