As the point of Elmer’s ball pen touched the paper he’d set before himself on the table, he allowed himself a moment to consider the route he was about to take to make his reception of jobs easier.

Granted, he had lots of papers so he could scribble continuously and throw them away as he made mistakes, but he wanted to minimize resources as much as he could.

A strong belief that money was not meant to be wasted mindlessly had been etched into him during his life at Meadbray. Everyone there kept their stack of pence extremely close, not letting them out of their sight as though they were newborns.

Hmm… Elmer’s eyes went up to the red colored tongue and groove ceiling above his head as he fumbled with the cigarette in between his fingers, its butt kept close to the metallic ashtray to the left side of the desk.

After a moment he tilted his head slightly to his side, directing his gaze toward the unlit and mildly sized translucent oil lamp hanging from the wall.

“That could work.” He suddenly had an idea after a few seconds. “Since the concept of using an emissary involves summoning and bringing them from the supernatural plane into the human world, then what if I bypass using the emissary and just have the message travel directly through the supernatural plane toward the one who’s to be the recipient?”

Elmer mumbled his thoughts out in between huffs and puffs of smoke.

“Something like creating a prayer being directed to myself as the reaper, in a similar fashion to praying to a God. Hmm… There’s no use thinking about it. Let’s just try and see if it’ll work. I hope there are no crazy repercussions that involve madness or actual corruption.

“Well, considering how my ascension into the Echelon 9 went, then I might be able to survive any otherworldly reactions if I just push aside my fear and embrace the supernatural. That’s hoping what had happened then was not a fluke.”

He exhaled—this time just air, no smoke involved—and put his pen to paper as he started to scribble.

I summon the emissary bequeathed to me, Elmer Hills, by the Heavens. Come to my aid and take my words to whom I deem fit to receive it…

The recitation for summoning an emissary he penned down first so as to not confuse himself while he tried tweaking it to fit the purpose he wanted it to perform.

“Ah… Now that I think about it, I’m yet to summon my emissary.” Elmer chuckled softly at the thought. “I wonder what would come forth for me. Well, it’s not like I’ve had any use for it, but I guess I’ll try that once I’m done with the reaper’s prayer.”

He read through the prayer he had written five times, then took another drag of smoke before putting his cigarette down into the metallic ashtray.

Restricting the smoke from leaving his lips, Elmer leaned back on his wooden chair, puffed up his cheeks, and used his tongue to form a circle with the smoke within his mouth.

After some time he fell the back of his head onto his chair’s simple top rail, and huffed out the smoke he’d held captive in intervals, causing three rings of white to be formed above his head.

It was not until the white rings had all dispersed out of his sight did he suddenly jerk forward with raised eyebrows, his brain having come up with the perfect changes to make to the emissary summoning prayer.

With steady heartbeats he put his pen to work a bit lower on the paper from the first words he had written.

I pray to the mysterious hunter who roams the night. The silent reaper in a pale mask. The Angel of Night. May the essence of the Heavens serve as the emissary of my words, and whisper them into thy ears…

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Elmer dropped his pen as soon as he was done writing, sat upright, and stared down the words he had penned with a scrutinizing gaze.

After a few seconds, he wrapped his left arm around his rib cage and sent his right hand to embrace his jaw as his expression switched into a ponderous one.

He was of two minds.

As he was sure that he had written the best possible prayer he could come up with, so was he unsure due to the ambiguity of the words.

There was no certainty that the words he had created to link himself to the prayer would actually be effective for him and him alone. What if someone in the world somewhere also went by the alias ‘the reaper’, and also ‘the mysterious hunter who roams the night’? The message would be delivered to them as well wouldn’t it? In fact, he might not even receive it if things turned out that way. The message could end up confused and lost in the spiritual plane, or it might just go to the other individual with the same alias as he.

He couldn’t have any of that happening.

Elmer grunted as his mind whirled about searching for answers. And because of his inability to come up with one quickly, he found himself taking one last drag of his cigarette before quenching it completely in the metallic ashtray to the side of the table. He then took off glasses, and laid his head down on the table, side-faced.

“But when Ms. Edna had sent a message to Eddie through her emissary she had only said his name. Hmph… Maybe that works because it’s a name tied to the individual from birth. My aliases are not the same, and I cannot add my real name in the prayer.”

Having recalled those two had caused Elmer to have a slight headache which he’d quickly pushed aside. He really didn’t like bringing them back into his mind, because doing that only worsened his nightmares; so in that regard, he felt like the farther he pushed thoughts about them away, the faster it would be for him to veer away from his chronic insomnia.

If only his condition was not worsening.

Elmer also had his mind occasionally bring up the thought of who was now currently in the Echelon 10.

He had seen no news about any deed being undertaken, so he’d suspected that it was something kept private beneath the walls of the Church, and that meant Ascenders who weren’t licensed couldn’t participate—obviously.

Those thoughts were irrelevant though, and so was his hesitancy to put to test his method for receiving jobs. After all, a process could only be tagged as either a success or failure if it had been tested.

Elmer pinched his eyes shut for a moment, then picked up his glasses and straightened up sharply.

As soon as his vision was restored, he stood up from his chair and went to his cupboard. He pulled open the lowest of its two add-on drawers, and brought out four blessed gray candles from the abundance of items he’d bought at the Black Market some time back during mid-December.

Since he knew how well the police force could investigate crimes, he’d used a sham postiche—which was of a very gruff mustache and light beard stubble—along with mildly turning his voice hoarse with the gray spirituality essence, to avoid the ponytailed barman at the orb of fate pub from taking notice of him at the time.

He could not have the police or the bounty hunter seeking him get to him, and that they would if they could successfully trace his movements.

Well, considering how he was still going about his daily life with no troubles, it seemed he had covered his tracks perfectly. He would have loved to use his postiche to move around whenever during the day, but since it itched him a lot he came upon the decision of just reserving it for special occasions.

Elmer set up the gray candles in a diamond shape as he recalled the process used in summoning an emissary. Then using the spirituality essence of red, he lit them all up before sitting down and assuming a praying position.

But just as he took a sharp inhale, readying himself to recite the prayer he had conjured up, his eyes suddenly darted toward the window of his room, revealing to him the snow shaven street that separated his house from the terraced building across, and the people moving about it garbed in dressings befitting of the working class and lower.

A sigh left his lips then, and following it up was him taking to his feet once again to make use of the plain black curtains devoted to the window to shut the outside eyes from peering into his room. Though, he left a little gap just a bit above the window sill so as to not restrict Mabel from having her fresh air.

Elmer returned back to his reading desk, using the flames dancing from his altar candles as a source of light, and fell down to his seat, taking his praying position once again.

Settled, and with a clear throat, he recited,

“I pray to the mysterious hunter who roams the night. The silent reaper in a pale mask. The Angel of Night. May the essence of the Heavens serve as the emissary of my words, and whisper them into thy ears…”

He took a second’s pause then added,

“Do you hear me?”