In the lobby of the Society of Freemen.
The night-shift scribe listened to Elias's response. The pen tip paused over the register as he finally looked up, sizing up the scruffy, unshaven stranger before him.
“First time here?”
“First time,” Elias nodded calmly.
The scribe stared at him for two seconds before wisely deciding not to press further.
In the Society of Freemen, someone with a clean identity wasn't necessarily trustworthy; in fact, someone with an overly clean identity was often the one you needed to watch out for the most.
“The Society of Freemen does not verify real names.”
“A name is just a label. What matters is that we can find you if something goes wrong.”
The scribe pulled out a grayish-white metal plate from beneath the counter and pressed it against the bottom-right corner of the registration form.
“Press your hand here and leave a spiritual imprint.”
Elias placed his palm on it.
A few ripples of faint light spread across the surface of the metal plate, eventually solidifying into a complex imprint.
It only recorded spiritual signatures; it wasn't designed to pierce disguises.
Otherwise, this place wouldn't be called the Society of Freemen. It would be much more straightforward to rename it the “Society of Self-Surrender.”
“What are your specialties?”
“Curses, spiritual bodies, ritual accidents, and occasional missing person cases.”
The pen tip moved across the paper.
“And your strength?”
“I've survived until now.”
“...”
The scribe looked up once more.
Elias looked entirely sincere.
This answer sounded incredibly unreliable.
Yet, in the Society of Freemen, it seemed like an indisputable metric.
“Guarantor?”
“I'll have one in the future.”
“Reputation record?”
“Isn't that what I'm about to start building tonight?”
The night-shift scribe rubbed his temples.
Within just a few sentences, he had already confirmed that this Mr. Constantine's reputation was currently blank, though his confidence was heavily overdrawn.
He slid the registration form over.
“Sign here.”
“Mr. John Constantine, I hope the rate at which you build your reputation is faster than the rate at which you accumulate enemies.”
“I appreciate the sentiment,” Elias signed the name.
A faint light glowed along the edges of the form, then faded away.
A new alias, a new profession.
Ignoring the fact that he had to punch out and head home within five hours and forty-five minutes, the entire process gave him the distinct feeling of a career just starting to take off.
After the registration was complete, a contract master with a tiny key hanging around his neck walked out from a side door.
“Here for a contract messenger?”
“Yes.”
“Follow me.”
The two walked through the side door, heading down a flight of narrow stone steps.
The further down they went, the fainter the voices from upstairs became.
At the end of the stone steps was a windowless summoning room.
An ancient clock dial sat in the center of the room.
Its dark cyan surface was covered in wear and tear, yet it had no hands or numbers. There were only three coin-sized slots right in the center.
Blank letter paper, sealing wax, and soul coins were arranged around it.
In the corner, a brass brazier held no fuel, only a slow-churning pale gray mist.
The contract master closed the door.
“Three soul coins as a guiding fee.”
“Once the ritual begins, eligible messengers will come to take a look.”
“As for whether they are willing to sign a contract, that is entirely up to them.”
Elias, who had just fished some money out of his Gluttonous Stomach, froze at these words.
“Three?”
“That's really not cheap.”
The contract master showed no reaction.
Obviously, he had to hear this complaint several times a night.
Elias counted out three coins, then suddenly realized something.
“Wait, they can refuse to be hired?”
“Spirit world creatures have the right to choose too.”
“They will assess the contractor's strength, reputation, job description, and the potential risks they might face in the future.”
“If they deem it unsuitable, they won't even come close.”
Elias looked down at the coins.
He understood.
You pay for the summoning.
They appear randomly.
And you might end up with absolutely nothing.
Dammit, isn't this just a gacha game?!
And not only can you pull off-banner, but the characters in the pool can even look down on the player.
He placed the coins into the slots on the clock dial, feeling less like he was hiring an employee and more like he was undergoing a reverse interview by spirit world creatures.
“Let's begin.”
The contract master pressed his palm against the edge of the clock dial and whispered the summoning incantation.
An invisible chill spread outward from the tabletop.
The three soul coins trembled in unison.
The sound of turning gears echoed from within the blank clock dial.
Though there were no hands, Elias felt as if something was keeping time.
The gray mist in the brazier rose along the walls, and blurry shadows began to manifest around the clock dial.
There was a six-legged black cat.
There was a beetle that stood upright like a human, carrying a letter tube on its back.
Most of the other things were just vague silhouettes, observing Elias from a distance through the rift between the spirit world and reality.
Elias was also observing them.
Neither side moved.
For a moment, the summoning room felt like an interview where whoever blinked first lost.
Unfortunately, half of the candidates on the other side didn't even have eyes, meaning Elias was already at a disadvantage by the rules of the game.
After a brief moment, the black cat was the first to turn away.
The humanoid beetle followed closely behind.
The remaining shadows faded away one after another.
In less than a minute, the area around the clock dial was completely empty.
The expectation on Elias's face slowly froze.
“What is the meaning of this?”
The contract master hesitated.
“They might think that the items you'll need to deliver in the future are too dangerous.”
“They didn't even ask about the job description before rejecting me?”
“Messengers are highly sensitive to danger.”
Elias refused to accept this.
This was John Constantine's first day on the job, and he didn't even have a single commission in hand.
These spirit world creatures' foresight was a bit too ridiculous.
The contract master glanced at the now-silent clock dial, preparing to abort the ritual.
Just then.
Knock, knock, knock.
Three knocks suddenly sounded from the corner of the room.
The sound wasn't heavy, but it was as clear as someone knocking on a thin wooden board.
Elias followed the sound and looked over.
There was only a gray-black stone wall in the corner, without even a seam that resembled a door.
“Is there a door there?”
“No.”
The contract master's hand froze in midair, his expression changing slightly.
Knock, knock, knock.
The second set of knocks sounded.
Closer than before.
The shadows on the wall were pulled to either side by some force, and a narrow rift appeared out of thin air.
Behind the rift, there was no dispersed, colorful mist common in the spirit world.
Only a dim road with no visible end.
A figure only half a person's height slowly walked out from the depths of the road.
It wore a faded dark blue mailman uniform.
Underneath its hood, there was no face.
Where its facial features should have been, there was only a silver signpost slowly spinning.
Every time the signpost turned to a new direction, the road behind the rift would shift slightly, as if the end of the darkness led to entirely different locations.
An old mailbag hung behind its back.
The mouth of the bag was tightly sealed by twelve metal snaps.
Only the sound of footsteps remained in the room.
Elias lowered his voice.
“What kind of messenger is this?”
The contract master had already pulled out a thick directory and was flipping through it rapidly.
“It's not in the station's directory.”
“A rogue one?”
“There is no such thing as a 'rogue messenger' in the Spirit World Post Office.”
“Then is it a temporary worker?”
The contract master did not answer.
Because the bizarre mailman had already arrived in front of the clock dial.
It tilted its hood back.
The silver signpost turned toward Elias.
Then, it reached out a hand clad in a grayish-white glove, took a single soul coin from the clock dial, and slowly pushed the remaining two back.
Elias's eyes lit up instantly.
Only one coin?
Holy shit?!
A Golden Legendary!
Three coins into the pool, and I get two back.
This is way more cost-effective than Guss, that greedy infernal demon!
That guy demands a minimum of three coins just to show his face.
This one might look creepy, but his rates are incredibly honest.
Elias immediately pocketed the two coins.
“Are you here to sign a contract with me?”
“No,” the mailman's voice came from beneath the hood.
Soft and distant, it sounded like someone standing at the end of a very far road, speaking to him through a thick fog.
The smile on Elias's face froze.
It didn't seem to be a Golden Legendary.
It was just a gacha staff member.
“Then what are you here for?”
A bad premonition rose in his heart.
The mailman paused for a moment.
“To confirm the recipient.”
“Who is the recipient?”
The grayish-white glove slowly rose, pointing precisely at Elias.
“You.”
“?”
Elias looked at the finger, then glanced behind himself.
There was no one behind him.
This statement truly left him scratching his head.
He paid money to find a messenger.
Instead of finding a messenger, he had somehow ended up as the recipient.
“So where is the letter?”
“The delivery time has not yet arrived.”
Elias's eye twitched slightly.
“Then didn't you show up a bit too early?”
The mailman did not explain.
It pulled out a blank stamp from the side of its old mailbag.
Not a single one of the twelve metal snaps had been touched.
Elias looked at its outstretched hand and tentatively drew a blank sheet of paper from the desk, handing it over.
The mailman pressed the stamp onto the paper.
There was no sealing wax, no incantation.
Yet the stamp seemed to melt into the paper, leaving only a faint indentation in the blink of an eye.
“However, your sending privileges have been unlocked.”
“Standard delivery is one coin, urgent delivery is three, and no refunds on returned mail.”
Elias's face darkened.
So that coin from earlier wasn't a contract fee, but an account opening fee?
And they were already declaring a strict no-refund policy.
“Your customer service attitude really doesn't match your pricing!”
The mailman did not answer.
It turned and walked toward the rift.
The silver signpost spun one last time.
The narrow rift closed shut, and the endless road, the damp, cold wind, and the dark blue uniform all vanished together.
The stone wall returned to normal.
The room fell silent for several seconds.
Elias looked down at the white paper with the stamp's indentation.
“Can I file a complaint against him?” He turned to look at the contract master.
“I'm afraid that's impossible.”
The contract master closed his directory, his expression not relaxing in the slightest.
“The problem now is...”
“Mr. Constantine.”
“It didn't sign a contract with you.”
“Yet it's willing to deliver mail for you.”
The contract master pointed at the clock dial.
“All messengers summoned through the station must leave a contract mark first.”
“Without a mark, it shouldn't even be able to detect your spiritual signature, let alone recognize you as the recipient of a certain letter.”
Elias looked utterly bewildered.
“Is there a problem with that?”
“It's a massive problem!”
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