"Why?" At the moment邓恩 spoke, a surge of waves of astonishment surged through克莱恩's heart, and he instinctively blurted it out. Did extraordinary beings face serious vulnerabilities? Could even the Church's judicial bodies, responsible for handling extraordinary events, themselves encounter problems? "That is to say, as long as you become one of our administrative staff, you'll gain access to the relevant secrets, understand the vulnerabilities of the extraordinary beings and the potential dangers they might face, and then decide whether or not to become an extraordinary being yourself?" Kline organized his thoughts and restated the meaning in his own words. Dun smiled: "Exactly—except for one point: simply because you decide to become an extraordinary being doesn't guarantee that you will. The major churches are equally rigorous in this regard." How strange that it should be strict—Kline muttered under his breath, then gestured emphatically: "Then what about the administrative staff? Shouldn't that also be quite strict?" "If you're the one, then there shouldn't be any issue," Dun replied, half-closing his eyes, his expression slightly relaxed as he inhaled the smoke from his pipe, though he didn't light the tobacco. "Why?" Kline once again found himself puzzled. At the same time, he began to tease himself internally: Could it be that my specialness, my status as a time-traveler, was like fireflies in the night—so bright, so outstanding? Deng En opened his eyes slightly, his gray gaze as deep and serene as before: "First, the fact that you've survived this event without relying on our assistance shows that you possess qualities different from others—such as luck. And lucky people are always well-liked." Seeing Kline's slightly stunned expression, he smiled gently and added: "Well, just consider it a lighthearted way of putting it. Second, you're a graduate of the History Department at Hoey University—this is exactly what we need. Although Lu'rim, the devoted follower of the Storm Sovereign, has an unappealing attitude toward women, his views on society, humanities, economics, and politics remain sharp. He once stated that talent is the key to maintaining competitive advantage and achieving sustainable development—a point I fully agree with." Klein furrowed his brow slightly and offered a casual explanation: "You should be able to imagine how frequently we come into contact with documents and artifacts from the Late Quaternary period and even earlier. Many heresies and sects strive to draw strength from these materials, and at times, they themselves become sources of strange and terrifying phenomena." "Outside of exceptional individuals in specialized fields, we are generally not adept at learning—or have simply passed the age when we could still learn much." At this point, Dunning Smith gestured to his own head, a slight smile playing at the corner of his mouth, as if making a self-deprecating remark. "The dry, monotonous knowledge always makes one want to fall asleep, even among the insomniacs. In the past, we relied on historians and archaeologists, but that came with the risk of information leakage, and sometimes brought unpleasant experiences to the professors and associate professors. Therefore, having a dedicated professional join our ranks is truly a hard-to-turn-down advantage." Klein nodded gently, accepting Dunne's explanation and then branching out with a question: "So why didn't you simply go ahead and develop someone else directly?" Dunne continued without interruption: "This is the third—and ultimately the most crucial point. You've already been involved in similar incidents, so inviting you doesn't violate any confidentiality agreements. But if we try to develop someone else and fail, I'll bear the responsibility for any inadvertent disclosure. Most of our team members and administrative staff come from within the Church itself." After listening quietly, Klein expressed curiosity: "Why do you maintain such strict confidentiality? Isn't it true that by sharing information more widely and allowing it to spread, we can prevent the same mistakes from recurring? After all, the greatest fear stems from the unknown—and we can transform that unknown into known experience." "Not at all. Human incompetence exceeds your imagination. This very fact leads to more imitation, greater disorder, and more serious incidents." "Denis Smith shook his head in response. "Ah," said Kline, with a nod of understanding, "the only lesson humanity has learned from history is that it never learns anything from history—always repeating the same tragedies." "That quote from Emperor Roscel is indeed profound," Denis agreed. ...Was the Emperor Roscel really saying that? The transcendental predecessors truly seemed to leave no room for later generations to impress anyone—Kline found himself momentarily at a loss for words. Denis turned to gaze out the window at the carriage, where the dim glow of streetlamps wove together into the light of civilization. "Indeed, within the judicial bodies of each major church, there exists a similar saying—this may very well be the reason for the strict confidentiality, and the deliberate exclusion of ordinary people from knowing it." "What is it?" Kline perked up, feeling a thrill of uncovering a hidden truth. Dunne turned his head, a barely perceptible tug in the muscles of his face: "Faith and fear bring trouble; more faith and fear bring greater trouble, until everything is destroyed." After saying this, he sighed, "And beyond seeking the protection and aid of the gods, humanity cannot resolve the true great troubles." "Faith and fear bring trouble; more faith and fear bring greater trouble..." Kline murmured the words, not quite understanding, and felt a growing sense of unease—like in the shadows of the streetlights, where the light fails, there stood pairs of hostile eyes and open mouths. The horses moved swiftly, the wheels rolled on, and the Iron Cross Street came into view. Dunne broke the sudden silence and formally invited, "Would you like to join us as a clerical staff member?" Kline's thoughts stirred, and for a moment he hesitated, then said, "Might I consider it further?" "It's a matter of great importance—we can't make hasty or rash decisions." "Alright, just let me know by Sunday," Dunn nodded. "Of course, remember to keep it confidential. Don't tell anyone—your brother and sister included—about the Welch-related matters. Should you breach that, not only will they be troubled, but you might even end up facing a special tribunal." "Understood," Cline replied seriously. Silence settled once again in the carriage. As the station approached and they drew near to home, Cline suddenly thought of a question, hesitated for a few seconds, then asked: "Mr. Smith, what are the salaries and benefits like for your clerical staff?" This is a serious matter… Dunning paused, then smiled. "Don't worry about it. Our funding is jointly secured by the church and the police department. Newly hired administrative staff receive a weekly salary of two pounds ten shillings, plus an additional ten shillings for confidentiality and risk allowances, bringing the total to three pounds—quite comparable to that of a full university lecturer." "As your experience grows and you earn recognition through your contributions, your salary will gradually increase." "For administrative staff, we typically offer a five-year contract. After five years, if you choose to leave, you may do so normally, provided you sign an additional lifelong confidentiality agreement and receive our approval before departing from Tübingen. You'll also need to register with the local night watch promptly if you plan to relocate to another city." "By the way, there's no Sunday—rotational leave is required, and we must always have at least three administrative staff on duty. If you'd like to take a holiday in the south, perhaps at the Düssel Bay, you'll need to coordinate with your colleagues." "Just then, the carriage came to a stop, and the apartment where the Crane family lived appeared to the side." "I understand," said Crane, stepping down from the carriage and standing beside it. "By the way, Mr. Smith, if I've decided on something, where should I go to find you?" Dunn chuckled softly. "Go to 'The Hound,' on Bessic Street, and find their owner, Wright. Tell him you'd like to hire their squad for a mission." "Oh?" Crane was completely puzzled. "Our address is kept confidential—we won't tell you directly until you've made your decision. Well, Mr. Crane Moretti, I hope you continue to enjoy a good night's rest." Dunn smiled and bowed. Crane tipped his hat and watched the carriage move from slow to swift as it departed. He pulled out his watch, clicked it open, and saw it was just after four in the morning. The night air was cool, and the streetlights cast a soft, yellow glow. Crane took a deep breath, feeling the quiet stillness of the night around him. At the bustling, noisy streets during the day, the area was equally quiet and serene at night—quite unlike the silent gaze and ethereal, otherworldly stillness within Welch's home. It was only then that he realized his linen shirt back was soaked with sweat, cool and damp.