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Chapter 225: Unnoticeable Guidance

Translator: Atlas Studios Editor: Atlas Studios

Klein backed up from the fork in the path, without touching Zreal's corpse.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Suddenly, a sound echoed in the distance through the empty sewers.

Klein listened for a few seconds before decisively retreating towards the exit, down the dirty concrete road that ran along both sides of the sewage channel.

There was no need to take risks in matters that didn't involve him.

Klein closed the iron manhole cover after he climbed out of the sewers. After ensuring that the surrounding area looked normal, he returned to his rented room in the East Borough and changed out of his disguise.

Then, he put on his gold-rimmed glasses, walked to another street, took a rented carriage, and returned to Cherwood Borough in the silence and cold of three in the morning. However, he didn't return to Minsk Street.

Then, Klein made another huge detour, and only after confirming that no one was following him, did he enter his house. He slept till dawn and was woken up by the doorbell.

He sat up immediately, put on his shirt, buttoned his vest, and hurried down to the first floor to open the door.

And even before that, his premonition ability as a Clown was already capable of naturally forming the image of the visitor in his mind.

The visitor was wearing an old coat, a brown round hat, and a tattered satchel. He had bright red eyes, a delicate face, and a quiet temperament. It was none other than Ian, the teenage boy who had come to entrust him with a job yesterday.

"Good morning, Detective Moriarty," Ian greeted him and looked around. "Any progress? Yeah… I'm only asking because I happened to pass by."

Klein nodded seriously and said, "Yes."

"…" Ian seemed shocked as he didn't say a word for quite a while.

After a while, he stammered in surprise, "Have you determined Mr. Zreal's condition?"

"Yes." Klein paused for a moment, then said seriously, "I found Zreal's corpse."

"Corpse…" Ian's pupils shrank as he repeated it in a low tone.

He wasn't too surprised, as if he had already expected the worst possible outcome.

Klein watched silently without interjecting.

"Sigh…" Ian exhaled and warily surveyed his surroundings. "Your efficiency is amazing. Can you take me to see Mr. Zreal's body?"

"No problem. In fact, that's what I was planning to do." Klein then thought for a moment before saying, "I hope you won't mention me when you call the police. Just say that you found the corpse yourself. I believe you know how to make up a reason."

Ian wasn't surprised; he knew that not every detective liked to deal with the police. In fact, except for the very famous detectives, who often gave advice to the police with mutual cooperation, the rest were discriminated against, ostracized, and even extorted from.

This was the current situation of the Loen Kingdom.

"Alright," Ian readily agreed.

Considering that they were entering the sewers, Klein changed into a set of clothes worn by the common working class, put on a deer-hunting cap, and took a lantern with him.

Both of them took the public carriage to the East Borough. They walked for half an hour to reach the remote sewer entrance under the watchful gazes filled with numbness and malicious intent.

"How did you find it?" Ian asked, half-surprised and half-curious, as he watched Klein lift the manhole cover and climb down.

Klein focused on the area beneath him and answered casually, "Skillful training which includes many techniques in reasoning, investigation, tracking, and interrogation."

Ian followed him into the sewers. He nodded without looking disgusted.

"… You seem to have received very professional training."

Klein didn't answer him directly. He held the already lit lantern and led Ian to the fork in the path where they arrived at the gloomy corner.

He narrowed his eyes as he approached. More of Zreal's body was missing now when compared to the previous night. He was missing an arm and half of his ribs.

That's not something a rat can do… Klein muttered to himself and didn't inform Ian of this.

With the help of the lantern's light, Ian was able to clearly see the corpse's appearance.

He squatted down suddenly, vomited, and gradually vomited yellow-green bile. Klein took out the Quelaag's Oil he prepared, unscrewed the cap, and bent over to place the mouth close to Ian's nose.

Ian's eyes lit up, and he calmed down.

Nearly twenty seconds later, he weakly whispered, "Thank you…"

He stood up slowly and examined the mutilated corpse a few more times.

"I can confirm that this is Detective Zrell."

"My condolences," Klein replied out of politeness. "I suggest you call the police."

"Okay." Ian nodded indiscernibly as he followed Klein back to the surface.

At that moment, Klein clapped his hands.

"This is the end of my mission. As for what should be done after this, that is up to you."

Ian fell silent for a few seconds.

"I still owe you three matters. You can tell me now."

"Actually, I can only think of one at the moment," Klein answered frankly. "I want to know where I can get a gun and bullets, without needing a full class weapon permit."

Ian spoke, almost without thinking, "Go to Bravehearts Bar at Iron Gate Street in the Backlund Bridge district. Find Kaspars Kalinin. Tell him 'Old Geezer' introduced you."

"Alright, let's talk about the other two matters in the future. I have a feeling that we'll meet again." Klein deliberately nodded casually.

Ian gave him a look but didn't say anything.

The two split up and headed down different streets in the East Borough. The secluded spot, once again, regained its silence.

After walking for a while, Klein suddenly turned around and retraced his steps. He then hid himself in a secluded corner, peeking at the entrance to the sewer.

After waiting for two or three minutes, he saw Ian return silently as he looked around warily.

Klein withdrew his gaze in a timely manner, leaned his back against the wall, and listened.

He heard the scraping sound of the manhole cover being removed and heard someone climbing down.

Carefully poking his head out, Klein discovered that Ian had re-entered the sewers.

Was there a clue or something on Zreal's body? Indeed, this matter goes deeper than it seems… He nodded thoughtfully.

Having satisfied his curiosity, Klein decided to leave for real and planned to seek out Kaspars, two days later.

…

At tea time, Viscount Glaint was in his home situated in Empress Borough.

The door to the study was tightly shut, separating the four people inside from the participating guests in the salon outside.

"Xio, Fors, this is the reward the two of you deserve." Dressed in a pale yellow lace dress, Audrey pushed a bulging envelope across the desk to the two ladies sitting opposite her.

Xio wanted to say something polite, but her hand had reached for the envelope faster than her mouth. Feeling the weight of the money, she could only say sincerely, "Miss Audrey, thank you for your generosity. Your honesty makes you look even more beautiful."

As she spoke, she untied the thin string around the envelope and saw the bills inside.

It was uniform gray paper money with black stripes. The stack was thick and exuded a special smell of ink, one that left one feeling refreshed.

"10 pounds…" Xio took one note out and checked its face value. Beside her, Fors, who appeared lazy and unbothered by money, had also leaned over.

This is at least… Observing the thickness, Xio tried to figure out how many notes there were.

She couldn't help but exchange looks with Fors and saw the surprise in each other's eyes.

This was obviously a lot more than they had imagined!

Audrey smiled faintly and said, "A total of eight hundred pounds. Decide how you will split the money between the two of you.

"I'm very sorry that this matter had placed you in danger."

Eight hundred pounds… No, there's no need to apologize. Even if we had to do it again and knew of the possible consequences, I would still accept the request… Even if it's divided evenly, with my savings, it's enough to buy the potion formula for Sheriff… Xio, who was slightly taller than 150cm, stared blankly at the notes in the envelope, wishing she could pull them all out and count them over and over again.

She believed that the generous and beautiful Miss Audrey wouldn't pay them any less, but what if she had made a mistake counting?

Everyone makes mistakes at times! Xio raised her right hand, paused for a few seconds, then silently lowered it.

The corners of Fors's lips couldn't help but rise as she said wistfully, "This is even more than the royalties I've received for my 'Stormwind Mountain Villa' so far…"

Should I praise Miss Audrey or laugh at the poverty of an author? She added silently.

Viscount Glaint, who was sitting on the sofa, was also a little envious, but it wasn't directed at Xio or Fors. As a viscount with a fairly good financial situation, 800 pounds wasn't a large sum.

What he envied was Audrey's ability to hand out money without feeling the slightest burden.

"Ahem…" Viscount Glaint cleared his throat, "If you can get the formula for Apothecary, I will also provide you with substantial payment."

"We'll do our best!" Xio answered without any hesitation. Then, she looked at Audrey. "We've recently come into contact with someone who's suspected to be from the Psychology Alchemists, and we'll soon have clues regarding the Spectator potion you're looking for."

Xio, I'm already at Sequence 8; far stronger than you… Audrey smiled in a reserved manner as she said, "I'm looking forward to it."

With that said, the four began chatting about various rumors among the Beyonder circles while following Audrey's example of finding books they wished to read.

Suddenly, Xio's eyes lit up as she saw two hardcover books.

"History of the Loen Kingdom's Aristocracy" and "Study of the Coat of Arms"

Meanwhile, Fors also found books that interested her.

"Geography and People of the Feysac Empire" and "Traveling the Northern Continent"

"Honorable Viscount Glaint, may I borrow these two books? I'll return them soon." Xio looked pleadingly at the owner of the study.

Glaint nodded without much care.

"No problem.

At his response, Fors hurriedly made a request as well and similarly obtained his approval.

The corners of Audrey's mouth curved into a faint smile as she witnessed all of this. She looked modestly to the side, pretending to be looking for a book.

As a qualified Spectator who had just advanced, she had accurately grasped Xio's and Fors's preferences in certain domains after being in contact with them multiple times. Thus, she had made arrangements in advance without anyone realizing it.

Letting the one being guided feel like it was done out of their own will was a manifestation of the powers of a Spectator.

…

In the evening, Xio was curled up on the sofa in front of the fireplace, reading History of the Loen Kingdom's Aristocracy under the gas lamp's illumination. Fors had gone for a gathering meant for authors.

After reading for quite a while, Xio suddenly felt something strange about the hardback cover, so she carefully examined it and found an interlayer where an ancient piece of paper was hidden inside.

The front side of the paper was covered with the special symbols created by Emperor Roselle, and on the back was a paragraph written in ancient Hermes.

"Viscount Glaint's ancestors deciphered some of Emperor Roselle's special symbols?" Xio was suddenly excited.

She struggled to decipher the ancient Hermes as she muttered silently

"The Fool that doesn't belong to this era.

"The mysterious ruler above the gray fog.

"The King of Yellow and Black who wields good luck."

Chapter 226: The Terrified Xio

Translator: Atlas Studios Editor: Atlas Studios

Cherwood Borough. 15 Minsk Street.

A satiated Klein sat in a reclining chair in the living room, beside a fireplace burning with charcoal.

In a warm environment akin to summer, Klein wore a white shirt, a black vest, and thin trousers, while having a newspaper spread open in front of him as he flipped through the section with the most ads.

A new type of transportation vehicle is in urgent need for investments. Details to be discussed in person… Klein read the advertisement twice before picking up a pencil from a small, dark red table to his side and circled the message.

If there were no commissions tomorrow or the day after, he planned on seeing if this so-called new type of transportation vehicle had any investment value—such matters were impossible to divine since there was a lack of sufficient information.

I hope it's a product similar to a bicycle… Klein mumbled to himself before suddenly hearing an illusory prayer echo in his ears.

Who is it? Miss Justice? Mr. Hanged Man? The Sun? Or some clerk at the Backlund Bank is copying my passcode? Thoughts flashed through Klein's mind as he put down the newspaper, returned to his bedroom, and locked the door behind him.

Taking four steps counterclockwise, he entered the world above the gray fog. He saw that to the side of The Fool's seat and by the edge of the ancient mottled bronze table was a clear and bright brilliance that emitted waves of radiance.

The experienced Klein calmly sat down and emanated his spirituality, touching the light ripples of light in response to the prayer.

The scene in front of his eyes suddenly changed. It was a blurry sofa with a petite woman in a knight's trainee uniform curled up on it.

She's not copying my passcode… She's reading a piece of paper… Klein suddenly realized the reason for this.

She should be one of the two Beyonders that Miss Justice mentioned that requires my vetting…

After nearly twenty seconds of silence, Klein didn't give any form of formal response. He planned on taking the next step deep at night. He would then test her reaction, attitude, and way of handling things to test her personality and abilities.

Of course, he would absolutely not force others to join the Tarot Club.

…

"The Fool that doesn't belong to this era…" Xio, who had just finished chanting the ancient Hermes sentence, froze for a few seconds. Then, she suddenly straightened her back and sat up straight.

This seems to be the honorary name of a hidden existence! She realized this in horror.

Furthermore, her knowledge in mysticism and the various rumors she had heard told her that once someone recited the full honorary name of a hidden existence, it would often attract the attention of said existence!

The consequences of such attention was mostly misfortune or could even be described as tragic!

Quite a few of those hidden beings were the incarnations of the evil gods and devils!

Furthermore, I recited it in ancient Hermes, completely unprotected… I'm so dumb. Why did I focus so much effort in identifying the sentence and actually read it in my head… Xio looked around in horror, terrified that an indescribable monster would suddenly appear in her house.

The sofa, tea table, cupboard, dining table, chairs, oil painting, and other items were all reflected in her eyes, without any changes.

After nearly a minute of heightened vigilance, Xio relaxed a little and comforted herself, "Don't worry, don't be afraid. I just said the honorable name and didn't follow up with a prayer.

"This is an incomplete ceremony, so it shouldn't attract any attention.

"Moreover, there's a good chance that the name might've been translated by the owner of the paper based on the special symbols left behind by Emperor Roselle. It might not be correct."

But, but I heard that if the evil gods and devils generate interest, they would still provide a response even if the ceremony is incomplete… I'm so stupid, really… As she thought over the matter, Xio's face scrunched up into a grimace. She felt that she had made a grave mistake.

After waiting for a few more minutes, she slowly exhaled as she puffed out her cheeks when she realized that there was no obvious response.

She stuffed the piece of paper back into the "History of the Loen Kingdom's Aristocracy" as she entered the bathroom with a heavy heart. She turned on the faucet and tried to use the cold water to clear her head.

Splash!

As nearly transparent water flowed down, Xio hunched her back and reached out her palms to cup some water.

Just as she was about to dab the cold water onto her face, she spotted a long, slightly curly brown hair in the mirror through the corner of her eye.

As for her, she had shoulder-length, unkempt yellow hair.

Suddenly, Xio's hair stood on end.

She stomped on the ground and, with a push of her hands, she shot backwards, turning her body halfway around and slamming the entity with her elbow.

Pow!

She leaned against a warm body, causing the other party to let out a familiar scream before falling to the ground.

Xio stopped any subsequent actions and looked at her good friend who was hugging her stomach in pain, tears in her eyes.

The corner of her mouth twitched without her realizing it as she said, "Fors, when did you get back?"

Fors didn't reply immediately. It took her quite a while to get over the pain. As she slowly stood up, using the wall as a support, she grumbled, "I j-just got back. Xio, are you nuts!? Why did you attack me without even looking clearly! And you hit me so hard!"

"Where did you come in from?" Xio asked awkwardly.

"Through the bathroom window. Why? Is there a problem? As an Apprentice, it's normal to not bring a key with me," Fors replied matter-of-factly.

Xio straightened her back and pushed away all responsibility.

"Then why didn't you go through the door? You really gave me a fright just now!"

Fors blinked her eyes and said, "If that's the case, I'll have to make one big round. That's too troublesome; I'm used to walking in a straight line."

She paused as she asked suspiciously, "However, wasn't your reaction a bit too much?"

Xio struggled for three seconds, choosing between losing her dignity or losing her life, before answering honestly, "It-it's because I made a mistake, a fatal mistake."

"What mistake?" Fors asked, rubbing her belly as she felt puzzled and concerned.

Xio hurriedly recounted the whole story of how she had discovered the interlayer in the book's cover and found an old piece of paper in it. Then, she had accidentally recited the suspected incantation in ancient Hermes silently. What she had recited seemed to contain the honorable name of some hidden existence.

"You… Where's your brain? It-it should be fine. The ceremony wasn't complete, and who knows if it's real or fake…" Fors looked around, and for some baffling reason, she felt a chill.

She followed Xio back to the living room and saw the yellowed sheet of paper, as well as Roselle's special symbols, and the sentence that was written in ancient Hermes.

After a quick glance, Fors, the professional researcher in mysticism, nodded and said, "It's not any of the evil gods, devils, and secret existences that I know of. It should be fine.

"Furthermore, nothing has happened up till now. That means that everything should be fine."

Seeing Xio relax, she thought of the pain in her stomach, so she deliberately added maliciously, "Of course, if something were to really happen, there's no way we can rescue ourselves with our meager abilities."

Xio's face paled as she blurted out, "Fors, let's sleep together tonight. Forget it, I'll just sleep on my own…"

Fors pricked up her brows and chuckled, "Alright. In fact, you don't have to worry about it. Think about it, I hear strange murmurs whenever there's a full moon, but I don't see any signs me going mad or losing control.

"Well… We should study the other three books. If there's the same piece of paper and the same incantation, it means that it's very likely to be a prank from Viscount Glaint."

The duo hurriedly flipped through "Study of the Coat of Arms" and the other books and checked them carefully, but they didn't find anything else out of the ordinary.

Xio looked at Fors, who looked back at her, turning the mood somber again.

"Should we sneak into Saint Samuel Cathedral's nave tonight?" Xio came up with an inspired suggestion.

That was the headquarters of the Church of the Evernight Goddess in the Backlund diocese.

"Why not Saint Hierländ Cathedral? I don't think the Evernight Goddess will protect me…" Fors subconsciously replied.

That was the headquarters of the Church of the God of Steam and Machinery, which was located in the St. George Borough, adjacent to many huge factories in the southeast.

The two ladies with different faiths fell silent again, and after a while, Fors sighed and said, "And that would make us end up being targeted by the Nighthawks or the Machinery Hivemind. That might be the goal of that hidden existence.

"Alright, go to sleep. We'll know the answer tomorrow morning. If nothing happens by then, it means that it'll really be okay."

…

In the middle of the night, the waxing crimson moon was obscured by clouds, and the stars were barely visible in the sky above Backlund.

Klein instinctively woke up, lifted his blanket, got off the bed, and entered the world above the gray fog.

He sat down on the high back chair that belonged to The Fool. He planned on responding to Miss Justice's companion and proceed with the 'examination process.'

At that moment, he suddenly had a new idea.

Perhaps he could try and see if he could pull her into the world above the gray fog under the present circumstances!

The young lady must have fallen asleep, and even if I succeed, she would probably treat it as a dream that appears clearer than usual… Hmm… If I succeed, I can sever the connection in a timely manner to prevent her from seeing her surroundings clearly…

After repeatedly deliberating over the matter, Klein stretched out his hand and tapped at the rippling ring of light to form a connection with it.

Suddenly, Klein felt his spirituality surge out in an unstoppable manner, causing the mysterious space above the gray fog to tremble slightly.

Just when Klein thought that his spirituality would be completely drained, everything calmed down. A blurry, distorted figure appeared at the edge of the long bronze table.

In her reverie, Xio opened her eyes sleepily and saw the endless fog, the ancient high back chair, and a dark figure watching her.

Klein was overjoyed and immediately severed the connection according to his plan.

The hazy, petite figure disappeared, but within the grayish-white mist, a crimson, illusory star appeared.

Klein looked at this scene and confirmed one thing. As long as someone chanted his name, he would be able to pull that person into the world above the gray fog. The crimson star was a symbol of a stable connection.

However, there are certain limitations. With my current strength, at most, I can establish another connection… Hmm… Based on my previous experiences, my current spirituality can only pull in Beyonders who are a Sequence higher than me, and it won't necessarily be a success. It's just a preliminary judgment, so it shouldn't be a problem if it's someone at the same Sequence as me or lower… Klein thought, feeling satisfied.

There was no need for him to respond. His attempt was already enough.

…

Xio sat up in her sleep.

She had been worrying about the potential dangers of chanting an honorary name the entire time. Not long after she fell asleep, she dreamed of a mysterious space, and a gray foggy figure looking down on her from above.

The dream was so clear, so clear that Xio felt afraid.

She looked at the sleeping Fors beside her and thought with a tremble, Is it a nightmare caused by fear, or is it because of the attention I garnered from some hidden existence, resulting in being haunted by evil spirits?

Yes… There's going to be a gathering of Beyonders tomorrow night. In addition to buying the formula, I need to find a person who is good at exorcising evil spirits to purify myself.

Chapter 227: Inventor Leppard

Translator: Atlas Studios Editor: Atlas Studios

Sitting at his own dining table on a foggy morning, Klein broke up his specially bought wheat bread and soaked it in milk, improving the way he ate it.

Although his body had changed a long time ago, his pursuit and obsession with delicacies were engraved into his soul. He was completely unable to adapt to the Loen Kingdom's monotonous and repetitive style of breakfast. He could only try his best at experimenting. He tried not to limit himself to toast, bread, bacon, sausages, and butter. He tried hard to expand the boundaries and improve the way he ate. For example, his recipes had new additions such as pork-filled pastries from the south, Feynapotter noodles, and roasted corn pastries.

"Caviar from the Feysac Empire isn't bad either, but it's too expensive. It's only suitable for formal meals…" Klein scooped up a small piece of wheat bread he had softened and put it in his mouth. Just by chewing it a little, he could feel the intertwining flavors of milk with the fragrance of wheat. The aftertaste of the bread was even sweeter.

After breakfast, Klein put down his cutlery, but he was in no hurry to tidy up the table. He picked up the newspapers, and began to read.

I'll do a divination in a while. If there's nothing else to do, I'll pay Mr. Leppard a visit at St. George Borough's Sird Street and see if his new transportation vehicle is worth investing in… Backlund is really big. Every borough is almost the size of Tingen City. The East Borough is especially ridiculous. It's at least twice as large… The easiest and most economical way to travel is to walk, followed by the steam metro, before walking again. It's just quite a waste of time… Klein's mind wandered aimlessly.

Backlund's public horse carriage system was rather similar to Tingen's. The price was about the same, but the only problem was that most of them were confined to a single borough. If one wanted to go from Cherwood to St. George, a few transfers were needed and that would naturally raise the price.

Such a situation made the prospects for a new transportation vehicle very alluring.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

At that moment, knocks on the door sounded. It was as loud as the pounding of a hammer.

Who is it… Don't they know how to ring the doorbell… He muttered a few words, straightened his collar, walked to the door, and pulled it open.

In front of him was a familiar face. It was the highlander man who had chased Ian at the steam metro. His skin was dark, his eye sockets recessed, and he was lean and hardy man.

According to Klein's mediumship results, the man's name was Meursault, an "executioner" of the Zmanger gang who was almost equal to the boss.

"Excuse me, who are you looking for? Do you have a commission to entrust with me?" Klein deliberately acted somewhat confused.

Meursault was wearing a black coat and a pompous silk hat, but he didn't look anything like a gentleman at all.

He coldly sized Klein up, then he asked in Loen, with a thick highlander accent, "Are you Detective Sherlock Moriarty?"

"Yes," Klein replied short and sweet.

Meursault nodded his head stiffly.

"I want to hire you to find someone."

"We can talk about the exact situation inside." Klein prevented himself from acting odd in any way.

Meursault shook his head coldly.

"There's no need."

After saying that, his eyes suddenly became sharp.

"The person I'm looking for is called Ian. Ian Wright. He has a pair of bright red eyes, maybe fifteen or sixteen. He likes to wear a brown, old coat and a round hat of the same color. I believe you know him."

Klein let out a soft chuckle.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Meursault seemed to ignore Klein's denial. "He's a thief who has stolen an important item from me. If you can find him, you'll be paid at least 10 pounds."

"You've provided too few clues." Klein made up an excuse.

"30 pounds." Meursault made a new offer.

Klein glanced at him and said, "No, this is against my principle of confidentiality."

"50 pounds," Meursault replied coldly.

"… I'm sorry, I cannot accept the mission." Klein was startled for two seconds, but in the end, he still chose to reject the request.

Meursault studied him slowly for a few seconds as his eyes slowly turned cold and fierce.

He didn't offer a new price, nor did he politely bid farewell. He turned around abruptly and walked quickly to the end of the street.

This gang has pretty good intelligence… They actually know that Ian had come to me once… Klein secretly sighed, full of emotion, but he didn't feel too much anxiety or fear.

After all, I'm someone who once directly faced the son of an evil god, although, it was separated by a belly… As he thought about it, his smile suddenly became brilliant. He began flipping a coin to decide whether or not he was going out today.

The answer was positive.

…

St. George Borough, Sird Street.

Having transferred from a tracked public carriage to the steam metro, before transferring to a trackless carriage, Klein finally arrived at his destination, spending a total of 11 pence.

Just after he alighted the carriage, he discovered that a drizzle had already started, but he hadn't brought an umbrella.

According to the newspapers and magazines, this is a daily occurrence in Backlund. The reason why hats are popular is that ladies and gentlemen don't carry umbrellas all the time. Klein pressed down on his half top hat and briskly ran outside Unit 9 and used the eaves to shield himself from the rain.

He brushed off the obvious water droplets from his body and rang the doorbell.

However, he didn't hear any cuckoo sounds or tinkling sounds.

Is the doorbell broken? Klein was just about to raise his hand to knock when he suddenly saw footsteps approaching from afar.

The image of the person naturally appeared in his mind. It was a tall, thin man with black hair and blue eyes. He was in his thirties and was dressed in grayish-blue worker attire, but he appeared gentle and refined.

Creak. The door opened. The gentleman rubbed his forehead and asked, "May I know who you are looking for? Is there something?"

Klein took off his hat and bowed slightly.

"I'm here to find Mr. Leppard. I'm interested in his new transportation vehicle."

The gentleman's eyes suddenly lit up.

"I'm Leppard. Come in, please."

He turned to the side and allowed Klein entry. However, there was no coat rack in the foyer.

Klein could only lean his cane and not take off his coat. He followed Leppard into the living room.

It had to be said that the gentleman's house was very messy. On the coffee table in the living room alone were many mechanical objects, such as wrenches, bearings and screwdrivers.

"How much do you wish to invest? Ah, right. Would you like some coffee or black tea? Uh… it seems I'm out of black tea…" Leppard blurted out.

This gentleman is a bit straightforward, and doesn't seem to be very good at interpersonal relationships… A thought flashed through Klein's mind, and he changed the words he planned on saying. He went straight to the point, "I've to see your new transportation vehicle before I make a decision.

"I can't make any promises without understanding anything."

As he spoke, he looked around and saw a triangular Sacred Emblem hanging on the wall.

That was the symbol of the God of Steam and Machinery. The solid triangle was filled with symbols such as steam, gears, and levers.

Leppard wasn't irritated by Klein's straightforwardness. He immediately said, "I'll show you."

As soon as he said that, he slapped his head. "I almost forgot, we have to sign a non-disclosure agreement to ensure that you don't steal my invention."

Mr. Leppard, you don't have a very good memory either… Klein smiled and said, "That wouldn't be an issue."

After signing the simple contract, Leppard led Klein into a room that seemed like an activity room. He had knocked through the neighboring guest room and basement, making it much wider and spacious.

The ground was littered with components, and a rough object, that was half the height of a man, that resembled a carriage stood in the center.

In addition to that, the line of the doorbell was connected there and was cleverly constructed. As long as someone pulled the rope, a steel ball would pop out from the mechanism, allowing it to roll along a special track before colliding with the object in the center to produce a clanging sound.

The sound certainly wasn't too loud, but it was enough to rouse Leppard who was engrossed in machinery.

"Is that the new form of transportation you invented?" Klein pointed to the crude object in the middle of the room.

"Yes, I invented it based on Emperor Roselle's imagination!" He replied with a fervent look in his eyes.

"Emperor Roselle's imagination?" Klein asked in surprise.

Leppard explained in a tone of adoration, "Emperor Roselle left behind a number of manuscripts in which he drew his vision of the machines of the future. He was an outstanding genius, no—a master! Many things have already been turned into reality! "Heh heh, this manuscript is kept in the Church of the God of Steam and Machinery. There's no way for non pious believers to borrow them."

… Emperor, are you still leaving no stones unturned for others… Klein's mouth twitched, almost unable to maintain his smile.

"Describe it in detail." He changed the subject.

Leppard led Klein to the crude metallic object and opened the door.

"This is a transportation tool that doesn't need a horse.

"The driver sits in the front left seat, continuously stepping on the pedals. Through the levers and a chain connects to the four wheels, allowing the vehicle to roll forward. And on the wheels, I used inflated rubber which can make the journey smooth."

So it's a human-powered car? Klein couldn't help but lampoon.

He said with some deliberation, "With such a huge carriage, and at least four passengers, it would be impossible to travel that far just by relying on human strength alone."

"That's exactly my next goal—to reduce the weight and expand the lever a few times! However, my financial situation isn't at its best. I can't fund any more attempts." Leppard looked hopefully at Klein.

"Why not consider other methods? Such as using steam as the driving force?" Klein slowly organized his words.

Leppard shook his head. "There have been people who have invented that, but it has a very huge body, making it difficult to drive it along many streets."

That was exactly what Klein was waiting for.

"Then, why don't you just do something simpler? For example, have only two wheels with only one person without an outer shell."

"You mean something like a bicycle?" Leppard asked in thought.

Roselle's manuscript has that? Klein nodded heavily.

"Yes."

"Those bicycles which other people have invented aren't very practical… Simplifying this… seems like it might work. It will really seem different. But, who would buy it?" Leppard said to himself.

Klein didn't hesitate to provide him with a direction.

"The postman, the working class who have a bit of savings, the businessmen who doesn't need to look respectable while hoping to save money… There are many of them in Backlund."

Leppard thought for a moment, then nodded slightly.

"… I can try, but I don't have the money for spare parts…"

"I'll invest 100 gold pounds. In addition to my suggestion just now, I'll take a total of…" Klein hesitated to say ten percent of the shares. Fifteen percent was better. After all, a hundred pounds was, strictly speaking, not much.

"You can have 35% of the shares! But that's only limited to the bicycle concept you described!" Leppard spoke out first, afraid that Klein would make an unreasonable request.

"Deal!" Klein immediately laughed. "We'll first draw up a simple contract and settle this matter. Afterwards, I'll find a lawyer to make a formal contract and add some detailed terms. For example, if there's anyone else who wants to invest, they must first get my consent."

"No problem," Leppard replied impatiently. All he wanted was to buy his spare parts as soon as possible.

…

In the gloominess brought about by the drizzle, Klein returned to Cherwood Borough's Minsk Street.

He entered the house and went straight to the bathroom on the first floor and resolved the problem of his bloated stomach.

Splash.

As the water echoed, Klein bent down to wash his hands.

At that moment, an image appeared in his mind.

The mirror in front of the sink reflected his lowered head, dim surroundings, and a pair of eyes to his side.

A pair of eyes!

Chapter 228: The Mastermind

Translator: Atlas Studios Editor: Atlas Studios

Almost instinctively, Klein bent his knees and rolled sideways toward the bathroom door.

Sou!

A small black-feathered arrow stabbed into the wash basin. The arrow seemed to be made of bone and suffused a blue luster. It was extremely beautiful.

If Klein had hesitated in any way, he definitely wouldn't have been able to escape this sudden attack!

After rolling for a moment, Klein reached into his pocket and attempted to pull out a few tarot cards.

But at that moment, he felt a gust of wind engulf him. Through the corner of his eyes, he saw a black figure quickly closing in on him at high speeds. It appeared in front of him in an extraordinary pose, as he tightened his foot and kicked out from bottom to top.

Realizing that he couldn't avoid the attack, Klein quickly gave up on his previous intentions and used his elbow to block the attack.

With a bang, he felt his entire left arm go numb, and his body was yanked over, just like in the sport squash, that the middle class loved to play the most, or like a soccer ball that was now popular among the lower class.

What immense strength! Klein's heart tightened. Without being flustered, he adjusted his body in midair and changed his posture, barely maintaining his balance as if he was performing acrobatics.

Pa! Pa! Pa… At this moment, a tree-bark-colored blow-pipe had just landed on the floor of the bathroom and bounced behind the door, at a declining speed.

Just as Klein was about to stretch out his body to firmly stand and face the follow-up attack, a scene suddenly flashed in his mind.

The speed of the enemy in black far exceeded his expectations, arriving even faster than he had expected. He lowered his body and swung his arm, striking him in the chest.

In the blink of an eye, Klein's body bent over, spinning half a circle more, like a small ball that kept falling and kept being thrown around.

Pow!

He stretched out his hand and pressed it to the ground, opening his legs like scissors while keeping his head low. It made black-clothed man's fist miss as it tore through empty space.

The fist that was originally aimed at his chest could only hit his legs after Klein turned his body, but his legs were opened wide.

Pushing up, his legs closed in together, allowing Klein to leap nimbly to the side as he finally managed to stand up straight.

Pow!

Before he had the chance to observe his enemy, the black figure had already arrived in front of him, bringing with it a strong gust of wind.

What a fast reaction! Klein quickly lifted his arms up in front of him to block.

With a dull thud, he felt as if he had collided with a black bear. Failing to withstand the immense force, he could only stagger backward, his arms almost turning numb in the process.

At the same time, Klein finally recognized his attacker.

He had dark skin, a lean and hardy build with recessed eye sockets. He was none other than the "executioner" of the Zmanger gang, Meursault, the person who had come to see Detective Moriarty in the morning!

Pa! Pa! Pa! With a fierce glint in his eyes, Meursault closely pursued after him as he flung both of his arms, delivering left hooks or right punches in a barrage of attacks at Klein.

The gap between Klein's strength and that of his opponent was obvious. He was unable to face him head on, and he had to rely on his agility and premonitory senses to barely avoid the combo of punches.

No! I have to make full use of my advantages! With a similar thought, Klein stopped engaging in melee combat. He lowered his body and rolled to the side.

Crack! A chair was torn apart by Meursault's kick.

Klein supported his body with one hand as he exerted strength in his waist and continued rolling in a bid to seek a chance to use his tarot cards and self-made charms.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

Meursault caught up quickly and kicked out his legs, one after another, that was in no way slower than his opponent.

He was like a giant bear with the gift of agility and had zero weaknesses. He made it so that the rolling Klein was only capable of focusing on dodging and defending, without giving him the chance to draw his cards or use his charms.

Kacha! Bam! Bam!

A chair was broken, the table overturned, the coat rack toppled, and Klein had circled most of the way around, but his situation was turning dire.

I can't go on like this! He kept dodging, rolling and tumbling, seeking every opportunity to turn the situation around.

Suddenly, an idea came to him when he spotted the coffee table in the living room through the corner of his eyes.

Bam! Klein defended a blow with one arm as jumped back towards the living room while enduring the pain.

At this moment, Meursault's leg muscles bulged suddenly like they were inflated with air.

Boom! He stepped on the ground so hard that it seemed to shake, and he jumped up and shot at Klein like a bullet, with one of his legs aimed at him.

Klein barely managed to hold on for a moment before being sent flying again, crashing through the coffee table with a clang, sending the ceramic tea set flying towards the cupboard, scattering the round fountain pens, the contract template, and the various newspapers on the floor.

Seeing that the detective in the black double-breasted coat was weakened from the impact and momentarily unable to stand up or roll, a fierce glint flashed in Meursault's eyes. He slid forward, pushing his knee out amidst the shattering sounds of the porcelain.

Klein's eyes turned dark as he watched this scene. He was already holding a contract template in his hands.

He had fled to the coffee table in the living room, ignoring the warnings his premonition was giving him, solely to pick up a contract template or newspaper!

When he saw Meursault's knee coming at him, Klein's wrist shook.

At that moment, a scene appeared in his mind once again, a scene with Meursault's neck twisted backward.

Sou!

Klein slightly pressed his wrist, shaking out the contract template in his hand.

Sou!

The contract was like a dart made of fine steel as it shot at Meursault's throat. At that moment, the distance between the two of them was less than a meter. Moreover, as Meursault closed in, the distance between them was decreasing!

A white item was reflected in Meursault's eyes as he instinctively tried to jump back to dodge it.

Oof!

The contract stabbed right through Meursault's throat, penetrating his windpipe.

Blood with patches of bubbling blood gushed out as Meursault fell in front of Klein, his knees heavily hitting the ground.

"Huff… Huff… Huff…" He pulled out the bloodied contract template and clutched his throat.

However, he was unable to stop the blood from flowing out of his wound, and his eyes gradually became unfocused.

In the end, his body twitched a few times, and he stopped moving.

Klein took a moment to recover before he had the strength to turn around and stand up. He had a few tarot cards between his fingers, on guard against possible counterattacks and other enemies.

After activating his Spirit Vision and confirming that his assailant was dead, Klein looked around and didn't see any other auras.

Only then did he relax a little. He noticed that two of the chairs were broken, the coffee table was smashed up in several spots, and porcelain was strewn all over the floor. The entire living room, dining room, and foyer were in a mess.

Lowering his head, he saw that the sleeves of his suit had been damaged and that the outer layer of the cloth had been stained with a great deal of dust.

Suddenly, Klein said softly in a self-deprecating manner, "There's no way to claim reimbursement for this…

"Haha. Hahaha. Hahaha."

He laughed as if he had encountered something that could amuse him for the rest of his life. He laughed so hard that his body bent forward and backward, to the point where only his laughter reverberated in the entire house.

A few seconds later, Klein stopped smiling and walked to the corpse with a heavy expression.

He wanted to make the dead speak!

Being familiar with the mediumship ritual and answering his own prayers, Klein took of a whiff of the refreshing fragrance and used the technique of dream divination to whisper, "The mastermind who sent Meursault on this mission."

Soon, his eyes turned black as he entered a dream and saw a gray blur.

Suddenly, the gray and blurry world and lit figures changed, forming numerous scenes and images before him.

In front of Meursault was a middle-aged man without a hat. His white shirt had a complicated, layered, petal-shaped collar and cuffs, which made him look very magnificent. Matched with a tight black vest and skinny trousers, he looked gaudy and exaggerated.

This middle-aged man had brown hair and blue eyes, a thin face with a stubble. He was a very good-looking gentleman.

He looked at Meursault and said in a deep voice, "No matter what you do, make sure you find Ian Wright alive. If he's dead, bring him to me within an hour, preferably within fifteen minutes."

"Yes, Mr. Ambassador." Meursault didn't hide his unruliness but still kept his head lowered.

The scene shattered, and Klein frowned.

Mr. Ambassador?

This matter actually involves other countries?

Judging by the style of the shirt, the ambassador is most likely the ambassador of the Intis Republic to Backlund.

Ian is only a teenage boy…

That gentleman is able to channel spirits, or at least he has someone around him who can do so…

Klein thought for a moment, then constructed another sentence for the dream divination.

"The reason for finding Ian Wright."

In the grayish blurry dream, Klein once again saw the middle-aged gentleman from before.

He stared at Meursault and said in a low voice, "You don't need to know why. Just heed my instructions.

"I gave you the potion and money to become the person in power behind the Zmanger gang; not for you to raise questions, but for you to do things!

"Yes… You only need to know that Ian Wright might be involved in an item of great importance."

As the scene faded away, Klein once again exited the dream.

An item of great importance… I really can't tell, Ian… What could it be… Potion… So Meursault is actually a Beyonder. It's no wonder that his combat skills were so powerful and terrifying. He should be a Beyonder adept in this field… As these thoughts crossed his mind, Klein felt exhausted. It seemed that responding to his own request had consumed too much of his spirituality.

If he wanted to have his mediumship standards restored to what it was previously, he estimated that it would only happen when he was a Sequence 7.

After ending the ritual and dispelling the wall of spirituality, Klein looked at Meursault's corpse and carefully observed it for a long time.

Finally, he saw specks of spiritual radiance converging at the wound on his opponent's throat, slowly congealing into a piece.

Carefully grabbing it, Klein pulled out a dark red object that looked like jelly from Earth.

Is this the Beyonder characteristic left behind by Meursault? I wonder what kind of Sequence potion it is… That's easy to determine. I'll get the answer by doing a divination above the gray fog… Theoretically speaking, the Beyonder characteristic of Low-Sequence Beyonders will be able to imbue a person with the corresponding powers, even without the supplementary ingredients. However, one can easily lose control and go insane on the spot after consuming it… Nearly all the supplementary ingredients for low Sequence potions lack spirituality… Klein's thoughts ran wild before he finally forced himself to focus.

A corpse was now in front of him. It gave him a headache thinking about what he should do next.

Chapter 229: Lesser of Two Evils

Translator: Atlas Studios Editor: Atlas Studios

Meursault's body lay there, his eyes wide open, as if he still had a murderous look in them.

The wound that had severed half his throat was originally thin, but with the condensation of the Beyonder characteristic, it had expanded by quite a bit and became much more mangled.

At the same time, the phenomenon of incontinence after death made his lower body reek of a stench.

Klein held onto the crimson jelly-like object, feeling troubled about what he should do next.

He had three general choices. The first was to clean up the scene, deal with his wounds, and to report it to the police in the name of legitimate self-defense. The second was to wait deep into night, throw the corpse into some sewer, and pretend that nothing had happened. The third was to immediately give up his current identity, flee to another borough, and change his name again.

The problem with the first option was that Klein was still an illegal resident with skeletons in his closet. Reporting it to the police could easily lead to discovering a problem with his identity. As for the second option, other than being constantly worried that the corpse would be found and that the police would come knocking on his door, there was another hidden danger.

When the ambassador behind Meursault confirms the disappearance or death of his subordinate, he would definitely send someone else to 15 Minsk Street again. When that happens, Klein would be facing perhaps a Sequence 7 and/or Sequence 6 enemy. He was facing a faction that might very well be a country, a powerful country.

The third option seemed to be the wisest and safest option that allowed him to avoid all the risks, but there was also a downside, and that was that the portrait of Klein was likely to be posted, making him wanted. Furthermore, it would be a portrait of his undisguised self which Mrs. Sammer next door, his neighbor Lawyer Jurgen, and others would describe. Once the wanted notice was published in the corresponding newspapers, even if it was limited to the greater Backlund area, Klein would very likely be recognized by Daly and the other Nighthawks. That would make the problem become even more troublesome.

As this matter involved Ince Zengwell and Sealed Artifact 0-08, it was highly likely that he would be pursued by an expert at the level of a high-ranking deacon.

Of course, the third option had a separate branch which was, of course, to hide the body and dump the evidence into the sewers, and then try to escape. However, there was also the risk of becoming wanted when the ambassador couldn't find Klein. He could order the members of the Zmanger gang to call the police and use the official forces of Backlund to search—and if he could track Klein down, that would be the same as the second option.

After thinking about it, Klein quickly came to a decision: Divination…

Of course, he was inclined towards a particular option already, the lesser of two evils. The first option was relatively less risky, and it allowed him to take the initiative to a certain extent. Through exposure, he could attract the attention of the official factions and suppress the Ambassador's subsequent actions from being too maniacal.

He took out a piece of paper and wrote a divination statement. After that, Klein took out a spirit pendulum from his left wrist, causing the topaz pendant to naturally hang down over the surface of the paper.

"I should make a police report.

"I should make a police report."

…

After he finished his silent incantation, he saw the spirit pendulum rotating clockwise with weak amplitudes and a relatively high frequency.

This indicated a positive response!

After divining the other two choices in turn and obtaining a negative answer from both of them, Klein no longer hesitated and began to deal with the scene.

He put on a pair of black gloves and began to search the corpse. He found a sharp dagger, a small stack of cash, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and some miscellaneous items.

Klein put the rest of the items back in place, took off his gloves, held the dagger in his hand, and stabbed it into Meursault's throat wound, destroying its original shape.

Then, he wore his gloves and let Meursault grab the dagger.

After doing all of this, Klein gathered together the Meursault's Beyonder characteristic, the self-made charms, the tarot cards, the blood-stained contract, the paper on which the divination was written, and the various materials he carried around with him, and put them in a paper bag.

Then, he summoned himself in a ritual and transformed into a special spirit.

Carrying Azik's copper whistle, he felt himself become stronger and more corporeal. Klein picked up the paper bag, ended the summoning, and returned to the world above the gray fog.

He placed the items from reality behind The Fool's high back chair for the time being, leaving Azik's copper whistle as well. Then he relaxed himself as he stimulated the sensation of descending rapidly and re-entered his own body.

The reason why Klein didn't burn the blood-stained contract and the piece of paper on which he had written the divination statement was because he was afraid that after the report was sent to the police, the matter would be transferred to a special department, and a powerful Beyonder would engage in divination pertaining to the situation.

However, with the gray fog's interference, even if the Eternal Blazing Sun were to personally descend, "He" wouldn't be able to obtain a productive answer.

This was also the reason why Klein placed his weekly review and summary above the gray fog after his spirituality was greatly enhanced after advancing to Sequence 8.

Right now, he couldn't afford to take on more suspicion and deeper investigations!

After removing the wall of spirituality, the wind that suddenly stirred blew away the remaining smell of the ritualistic materials. The items related to the domain of mysticism and Beyonders that were left behind on Klein's body and in the entire house were the candles that were silently burning in front of him.

But this time, he chose ordinary candles. Since he was praying and summoning himself, there was no need to be so meticulous.

And in a family, having candles was a very normal thing that matched the era, even if he was the only bachelor in the family.

After extinguishing the candles and returning them to their original spot, Klein took out his golden pocket watch, snapped it open, and estimated the number of minutes since Meursault's death and added the minimum amount of time it would take for the police to send people to investigate and report back.

He wanted to ensure that even if a Beyonder came to investigate, an hour would have passed since Meursault's death.

In mysticism and in the domain of spirit-channeling, this was an important time point. Beyond it, the information available was very limited and vague. For example, one could discover, through mediumship, that the person who killed Meursault was Sherlock Moriarty; however, they couldn't get the specifics of the death.

As for whether or not his opponents could divine if Beyonders were involved, Klein wasn't worried at all, because the main factors involved (the bloodied template contract) were above the gray fog.

Even his premonition and combat abilities would also be obscured as the opponent's divination would definitely point towards the mysterious space above the gray fog, and would certainly suffer from interference.

Fortunately, I'm also a professional… It feels like I've really become Moriarty… Klein re-examined the scene, making sure that there were no problems, and began to walk with his eyes fixed on his pocket watch.

After the estimated time, he put on his gold-rimmed glasses and waited for a few minutes before he opened the door and went out.

The sky in Backlund had already gone dark, and the gas lamps on the street lit up the rain.

As a middle-class neighborhood, Minsk Street was often patrolled by the police. Klein waited for a while, then spotted the target and went up to meet them.

They were two low-ranking constables with only one chevron on their Paulette. They held guns, batons, and were holding up an umbrella while looking around.

"Officers! A criminal attacked me! " Klein shouted with great skill.

His unkempt appearance made the two constables place importance on the matter. They each took out their batons and looked warily to the side.

"Where's the criminal?" the round-faced, brown-eyed cop asked in a deep voice.

Klein pointed to his house.

"He sneaked into my home and tried to kill me!

"In the fight, I accidentally stabbed him to death!"

Stabbed him to death… The two constables exchanged looks and looked at Klein with scrutiny.

"Take us there."

"Alright!" Klein acted like he had just survived a disaster as he led the two officers to 15 Minsk Street, took out his key, and opened the door.

The two police constables first saw the chaotic scene before noticing the corpse laying on the ground. They noticed the hideous wound on the deceased's throat, and noticed a bloody dagger.

"Watch the scene, I'll return to the station and report it to the inspector," another constable said to his round-faced, brown-eyed colleague.

"Alright." The round-faced, brown-eyed constable cast his gaze on at Klein, his face and body language revealing his wariness and caution.

After a while, a sergeant dressed in black-and-white checkered uniform with three chevrons on his epaulet arrived with the constable from before and two other subordinates.

The constables investigated the scene and while searching for clues, the sergeant with a short brownish-yellow beard under his chin brought Klein to the side and began asking some preliminary questions.

"Name."

"Sherlock Moriarty. This is my rental receipt for half a year." Klein had long prepared all of this.

The sergeant gave him a casual look and continued asking, "What's your occupation?"

"Private detective," answered Klein frankly.

The sergeant frowned and said, "Do you know the deceased? Do you know why he attacked you?"

"I know him. His name is Meursault, and he's the executioner of the Zmanger gang." Klein didn't wait for the sergeant to ask any further questions as he continued, "I had previously accepted a job from Ian Wright who asked me to investigate his former employer, Detective Zreal Victor Lee. This matter happened to be related to the Zmanger gang and Meursault.

"I tailed him and found out that he was secretly meeting a gentleman who appeared to be of significant standing. Meursault addressed him as Mr. Ambassador." After saying that, Klein was unsurprised to see the sergeant's expression change.

"Ambassador… Do you know his name?" the sergeant asked in a deep voice.

"I don't know, but if I saw his picture, I'd definitely recognize him," Klein told the truth. "This morning, Meursault came to me and asked me to seek Ian Wright. On the basis of my professional ethics as a private detective, I refused him, and when I got home in the evening, I was attacked and almost killed by him. Thankfully, I'm still quite skilled at combat and was sufficiently quick to react."

The sergeant thought for a moment and asked for details of the fight. Klein recounted the fight from beginning to end nearly in its entirety, changing his premonition to a reaction, then changing the contract template he had thrown in the fight into a dagger that Meursault had dropped.

"Yea… Follow us back to the police station and wait for the autopsy results, the results of the on-site investigation, and inquiries from the relevant parties involved." The sergeant's thoughts wasn't on the case anymore, clearly acting rather perfunctory.

Right now, he only had one thought in his mind:

This was an important case involving foreign ambassadors!

He had to report it immediately!

In his daze, he suddenly thought of a question and quickly added, "What's your faith?"

"God of Steam and Machinery," Klein replied without hesitation.

The Backlund headquarters of the Church of the Lord of Storms was in the Cherwood Borough, so cases involving Beyonders were often referred to them, with one exception—the people involved had to be believers of the Lord of Storms.

In order to not encounter the Nighthawks, Klein had no choice but to let the Goddess down.

Chapter 230: Interrogation

Translator: Atlas Studios Editor: Atlas Studios

Empress Borough. In an unremarkable house.

Xio and Fors took a seat at random and examined the writing on the blackboard. Like always, Mr. A was sitting quietly, alone on the sofa at the front in his hooded robe, looking down at the crowd from a high vantage point.

Sequence 8 Sheriff potion formula. 450 pounds… Xio silently read the familiar content as she inwardly let out of sigh of relief.

The situation she feared the most was the lack of a seller when she had finally amassed the money with great difficulty!

I received 400 pounds from the split, plus my original savings of 150 pounds, that's enough… However, I'd definitely need a huge sum of money for the main ingredient… Ah right, maybe I can change circles and see if there are any Beyonders who are interested in this formula… Xio suddenly felt invigorated, and she realized that she had found a way to make a fortune.

Frankly speaking, there was no way she would leak the formula if she wasn't in desperate need for money to buy the materials to concoct the potion. On the one hand, most people always hoped that there were fewer Beyonders in their own Sequences, and on the other hand, the price of the corresponding ingredients would be raised significantly if there were many competitors who bid up the prices of the ingredients. It was the same with the subsequent potions.

After some serious thought, Xio slowly became nervous again, because it was normal for a recipe to be placed on sale for a long time without being sold.

Moreover, the Arbiter pathway belonged to the royal family and the military. All aspects were strictly controlled, and the leaked ones came from a small number of destitute nobles. There were hardly any complete formulas for the low to mid Sequences. Often, only one or two of them were complete and compounded with the knowledge that the main ingredients were controlled and difficult to obtain. Beyonders who chose this Sequence were rather rare.

Xio had been in some mysticism circles in Backlund for a long period of time, but she hadn't found an Arbiter apart from herself. On the one hand, the others might have concealed it well, but on the other hand, that might also explain the problems faced in this Sequence pathway.

Phew, but compared to Fors, I'm lucky enough. She hasn't encountered any of the subsequent recipes for Apprentice all this time… Xio saw Mr. A's attendant approaching and wrote a note saying that she was purchasing the Sheriff's recipe.

Before long, she was led to the study on the first floor. Before entering, she took a hooded robe from the attendant and covered herself with it.

The seller in the study was dressed in the same way, so they couldn't see each other's faces clearly.

"This is the formula to the Sheriff potion. Where's my money?" the seller asked with a hoarse voice as he pressed a piece of paper on the desk.

Xio pulled out the cash that she had long counted numerous times and pushed it to the seller.

After checking the authenticity of the notes and the total sum, the seller finally released the potion formula he held.

Xio immediately took one step forward and grabbed the note.

Her eyes swept straight to the main ingredients as they were of great importance.

"A pair of Terror Demon Worm's eyes. Silver War Bear's right palm."

Beyonder items I know of, but I've never seen them being sold… Xio sighed and walked out of the study and took off her robe.

Back in the living room, she sat beside Fors. Having fulfilled her wish, she slowly began to worry about the unknown honorary name and the evil spirit that might be haunting her.

10, no, 20, no, 30 to request for someone skilled in exorcism to do a purification ritual for me. Xio made up her mind, and after exchanging a few whispered words with Fors, she beckoned for Mr. A's attendant.

After the end of the free communication break, she saw her request appear as an additional entry on the blackboard.

"Suspected haunting of evil spirits. Requesting the help of friends who specialize in exorcism. 30 pounds."

After a while, Mr. A's attendant came to the two of them and quietly invited them to the living room on the first floor.

There was a man wearing a white mask inside. He looked at the two people who were wearing loose robes that concealed their genders and chuckled.

"Let me introduce myself first, so that you won't doubt my ability."

"No, no, we trust Mr. A," Xio, with her hood over her face, said before Fors could open her mouth.

She deliberately suppressed her voice to prevent her childish voice from revealing her identity.

The man with the white mask spread his hands and laughed.

"This is my habit, I am a believer of the Sun. As you know, this is not common in Backlund, or in the entire kingdom.

"It is only through moments like this that I can live as my true self."

Due to the great conflict between the Church of the Eternal Blazing Sun and the Church of the Lord of Storms, the former had never been able to obtain the right to proselytize in the Loen Kingdom.

"A believer of the Sun?" Fors's languid look instantly vanished. "This is the first time I'm seeing a living believer of the Sun! Eh… It's not like I can meet diplomats of higher standing."

"Then, should I feel honored?" The man in the white mask spread his arms wide and held them up in a gesture of praise for the Sun.

Instead of answering his question, Fors smiled and said, "In terms of exorcism and purification, the attendant of the Sun is a professional. Our hearts are at rest, so we can begin."

The man who claimed to be a believer of the Sun didn't drone on. He took out a badge with the symbol of the "Sun" on it and placed it on the round table in the center. Then, he used a dualistic ritual method to light up two candles.

After finishing the preparatory steps one step at a time, he chanted with a loud and abnormally pious tone.

"The Sun that is Eternal,

"You are an Inextinguishable Light.

"You are the Embodiment of Order

"I pray to you,

"Please bestow me with your cleansing glow.

"Please repel the evils spirits in this body."

…

Amid the echoing Hermes incantation, Xio and Fors saw bright light burst out from the Sun's emblem, bursting in a pure and warm manner.

It was endless, like the tide, as the light surged towards the two of them, engulfing them simultaneously.

Nearly a minute later, everything was restored to normal. All Xio and Fors felt was warmth, finding the warmth very comfortable and relieving. It was like soaking in a hot spring, or having gone sunbathing.

…

Cherwood Borough. Rice Police Station.

Klein was sitting on a low bench with a group of thieves and drunkards. It looked very disgraceful.

Suddenly, he felt warmth on the back of his hand as the coldness of the Backlund night was dispelled quite significantly.

Lowering his head, Klein realized that the four black dots representing the mysterious space above the gray fog didn't appear.

Who's being so kind? To know that I was feeling a little cold just now… he mumbled half jokingly and half-curious.

As a former inspector, he looked at the thief on the left who was handcuffed to the pipe, then at the drunkard on the right who could vomit at any moment but kept yelling about hitting people. He sighed at his present predicament and wasn't sure when he would be free from this.

There should be another test after this and then I'll be fine once I pass it… I hope the police will have their attention on the ambassador and the Zmanger gang, and ignore my origins as a puny detective. In theory, there's a high chance for that. As long as Mrs. Sammer, Mr. Jurgen, and the others don't say anything of interest to the police… Yes, they have only just met me so it's impossible for them to know too much…

Meursault's Beyonder characteristic was taken away by me and was hidden above the gray fog. He didn't leave behind anything strange, so no one would able to discover that he used to be a Beyonder and have questions about my strength… Hmm… More than an hour has passed…

In his self-encouragement, Klein saw the officer with the short brownish-yellow beard walking towards him.

"Sherlock Moriarty, come with me to the interrogation room," the sergeant said without further explanation.

Here it comes… Klein stood up and followed.

After going around a corner, the sergeant stopped in front of an iron door and gestured for Klein to enter.

Klein took a deep breath before exhaling. He yanked the handle and opened the door.

It was a small room with thick walls and a small table in the middle. There were chairs on both sides of the table.

Under the elegant gas lamp's illumination, Klein identified the interrogator as a man who wore a black shirt, a rather uncommon sight.

He didn't wear a vest but wore a black coat that wasn't part of the usual formal attire. He had thin eyebrows and cold blue eyes. His face was cut, looking rigid while lacking any gentleness.

The man pointed the chair opposite him and said in a deep voice, "I ask, you answer."

Before he finished his sentence, Klein felt an unimaginable suppressive force on him. He felt that an electric current was tearing through his mind that lashed at his soul with a barbed whip.

This "feeling" was painful and numbing, as though it stemmed from deep within the brain. It was barely resistible, and all he could do was tremble and have his knees buckle.

Klein nearly fell to the ground as he hurriedly held onto the table and sat down. His temples felt a throbbing pain.

This… this is the result of Beyonder powers… Ordinary people might've thought of it as a psychological problem caused by nervousness and the authority of the interrogator opposite them, but Klein had clearly identified that this was a result of Beyonder powers, powers that could directly attack the mind of others!

He quickly recalled the information he had seen before and quickly confirmed the target of his suspicion.

Arbiter pathway, Sequence 7: Interrogator!

Has the matter been transferred to a special department of the military? Klein thought with some relief.

As long as it isn't the Nighthawks, everything's fine.

"Identify the ambassador who met Meursault from these photographs." The cold and unyielding man in black spread out eight black-and-white photos on the small table.

Klein felt as if the electric whip in his mind was being lifted high, and the warning of extreme pain made it so he didn't dare to lie.

Of course, there was no need for Klein to lie. After a moment of identification, he pushed a photo in the direction of the interrogator. It was a middle-aged gentleman who wore ostentatious clothing and looked rather charming.

The interrogator glanced at it, but didn't make any response. He once again asked, "Were your previous statements the truth?"

Klein felt like he was being forced into a dream. He kept his mind clear and rational, and he didn't yield to the "whip" in his mind as he sincerely replied, "Nothing but the truth."

The interrogator leaned forward with his hands on the small table and said, "When was the last time you met Ian Wright?"

"Yesterday, yesterday morning," Klein said with great difficulty, "I tailed Meursault and found the body of Detective Zreal. As I didn't want to deal with the police, I took Ian to identify the body and told him to call the police. Zreal's body was located at the sewer entrance at the bottom of Iron Carbon Street in East Borough."

After a brief silence, the interrogator finally nodded his head. Klein immediately felt the enormous pressure disappear along with the "whip" in his mind.

"You may leave now," he said without a trace of emotion in his voice.

Klein stood up and opened the door, not masking the frailty in his gait.

He found it more tiring than fighting Meursault. If he made the slightest mistake, his spirit would've been completely crushed, and he would obediently answer any question that the other party asked.

No, if it wasn't for the fact that my spirit is special and how it's been subjected to the test of raving and screaming for a long period of time, allowing me to maintain my calm and rationality under certain circumstances, I would've most likely had a mental breakdown just now… Klein walked back down the corridor, his back feeling cold.

At this moment, the sergeant from before came over and said, "Come with me to fill out some forms. Lawyer Jurgen is waiting to bail you out."

Phew… Klein secretly exhaled and completely relaxed.

He knew that the danger was over.

Chapter 231: Losses

Translator: Atlas Studios Editor: Atlas Studios

Klein met Jurgen Cooper in an office at the Rice Police Station. This young senior solicitor was still dressed formally as though he was always ready to go to a posh dinner party.

He wore a black double-breasted attire, a white shirt with a stiff collar, a huge bow tie, and bright leather boots, which made the policemen act very polite to him.

Jurgen held his half top hat and looked at Klein with his blue eyes while saying, "The formalities are over. You can leave if you pay the bail of ten pounds."

"Thank you." Klein didn't say anything more, but followed the good-looking but seemingly old-fashioned Jurgen to the police station's financial affairs office that was nearby, where he fished out his wallet and pulled out two five-pound notes.

He was grateful that he had all his cash—95 pounds—on him, or else he might've had to borrow it from his good neighbor, Jurgen.

Of course, the worst-case scenario would be if he had left the money at home. Klein wasn't certain how much of that would be left after the police searched the scene. Yet, he couldn't put it in the world above the gray fog, because it was possible that he needed to offer bribes to free himself.

At present, many newspapers and magazines were discrediting the police as being unsupervised, violent, corrupt, extortionary, and vicious. Klein didn't dare to believe it fully, but neither did he dare to doubt it. After all, Meursault's money could very well end up in the pockets of someone in the police station.

After paying the bail, Klein followed Jurgen out of the police station and shivered when hit by the humid, cold wind.

"After the case is closed, your bail will be returned to you. Of course, you can't expect them to voluntarily notify you. Yes… In a week, if no one notifies you that your presence is required back at the station, you can come here and ask for your bail to be returned. In theory, you could still get appropriate compensation, if any, from the other party's estate." Jurgen walked over to a carriage parked nearby.

The rain that had poured down during the entire day had finally come to a stop, but the crimson moon remained hidden by the dark clouds. The only light that could be seen on the street was from the gas lamps.

"Alright." Klein almost believed that he would have to part with the ten pounds forever.

He couldn't help but calculate how much it cost him to take up Ian's job. He had been paid five pounds, but many pieces of furniture and tea sets were destroyed at his home. He either had to buy new ones or get someone to repair them for him. With the materials used, the cost of the carriage, and the cost of mending his clothes, the math seemed to imply that he would be losing money…

If I don't manage to get back the ten pounds worth of bail money, this would be a great loss! Well… the Beyonder characteristic left behind by Meursault is actually worth quite a bit of money… Klein got into the carriage and frowned slightly.

He had always thought that the private detectives who used their own residences as offices would, at most, not be entrusted with anything and wouldn't suffer any losses, but in the end…

Klein turned his head to look at Jurgen, who was sitting up straight, and he said with sincerity, "Thank you. Thank you for coming to bail me out. How much should I pay you?"

Jurgen nodded very formally and said, "This one's pro bono.

"I heard from Sergeant Faxine that you were involved in an incident. I believe that we'll have many opportunities to work together in the future."

There will be many opportunities to work together in the future… Klein couldn't help but laugh as he said, "Lawyer Jurgen, are you cursing me?"

Jurgen shook his head solemnly and said, "No, it's not what you think. It's very common for a private detective to have a fixed lawyer he works with."

Sir, you sure lack a sense of humor… even though you look rather young… Klein lampooned before saying with a smile, "Coincidentally, I'm in need of a lawyer to help me draw up an investment contract."

"Investment contract?" Jurgen asked in a slightly stunned tone.

"I know that this isn't part of the work of a private detective, but I happened to chance upon a good investment opportunity," Klein explained simply. "Lawyer Jurgen, how much would a contract cost according to your usual fees?"

"Generally, it's based on the total amount of the contract and the level of ease," Jurgen answered seriously.

"The total amount is one hundred pounds, the terms needed are…" Klein described his needs in detail, including a preemptive right, veto rights, and so on.

Jurgen thought hard for a few minutes before saying, "Two pounds. I'll give it to you Monday morning."

"Alright," Klein said no more regarding the matter. Instead, he began asking Jurgen information about the case that night.

On the way back to Minsk Street, Klein took the initiative to pay the carriage's fare of 3 soli. After bidding farewell to the young but serious lawyer, he walked back to his house.

He opened the door and when he saw the messy scene, his heart winced.

He never expected that he would start his detective business with a loss.

Just as Klein took off his coat and began working on cleaning up the mess, the doorbell rang.

He opened the door in puzzlement and saw Julianne, the maid from next door in a black-and-white skirt.

"Good evening, Mr. Moriarty. Mr. and Mrs. Sammer wish to invite you over to discuss something," Julianne said with a tone that had traces of fear.

Here it comes… the problem regarding compensation… Klein revealed a smile and said, "Alright."

He changed into a clean coat and followed the maidservant next door. Luke Sammer and his wife, Stelyn Sammer were sitting on a sofa in the living room.

The stout Luke, with a pencil-thin mustache, stood up and extended his hand as he said with a chuckle, "Good evening, Mr. Moriarty. I only just learned that you were a private detective. That's quite unbecoming as a neighbor."

"No, it was my fault. I didn't know if I was suited for this career and might find other jobs at any moment," Klein said as he shook the hand of the male master. "I'm very sorry for what happened tonight. I'll compensate you."

"It's just an accident," Luke said reassuringly.

The blonde, blue-eyed, and pretty Stelyn asked out of curiosity, "Did you really kill the intruder? Heh, you must want black tea, right?"

Klein nodded.

"Perhaps he was just a thief."

He didn't mention that the problem stemmed due to one of his jobs, in order to prevent the Sammer couple from having any unpleasant feelings.

Since the police didn't inform them, there's no need for me to do anything unnecessary… Klein silently added.

Luke Sammer laughed and said, "You must possess excellent combat skills. As a neighbor, I feel very safe. Perhaps we will have matters to entrust you in the future."

Klein seemingly gave a self-deprecating laugh.

"Actually, I was almost killed."

"Regardless, you were the ultimate victor," Luke said.

After chatting about this topic for a while, Stelyn picked up a porcelain teacup and took a sip.

"I'm very curious about how many commissions a private detective receives a week, and how much can they earn?"

Klein didn't try to hide anything as he laughed.

"It depends on the situation. Just like when there are good and bad harvests in the farms. I earned five pounds and five soli last week. But after last night's incident, I might have made a loss."

As if she didn't hear the latter half of his words, she continued, "If you can maintain this income, you'll get a pretty good life in Backlund's Cherwood district at 5 pounds a week. There's no need to sublet another room, and you can hire a maid to do odd jobs, listen to a symphony every other week, or go to the theatrical opera once. Once a week, you can play tennis or squash, join a reading salon, and go to a nice restaurant. Of course, if you're already preparing for marriage, you need to save a little money. A weekly salary of five pounds is still a little short of being truly decent."

"Then, what is the required weekly salary to be truly decent?" Klein asked.

"Seven pounds, at least." Stelyn lifted her chin slightly.

Klein turned to Luke and said casually, "I heard from your wife that you work at Coim, but I'm not sure what its main business is."

"Anthracite and charcoal," Luke answered with a smile.

It's no wonder you became a member of the Soot Reduction Association… Klein pondered for a moment and said, "In Backlund, how big of a salary does a manager receive? It's seldom mentioned in the newspapers and magazines."

"Haha, it depends on the industry, as well as the actual position's job scope. Backlund Bank's best manager earns 5000 pounds a year, but for me, it's about 430 to 440 pounds including bonuses," Luke said casually.

That's about eight pounds a week… No wonder… Before Klein could open his mouth, Stelyn Samuel grumbled, "Actually, we could've lived in the suburbs, and I'll have a garden and a lawn. Luke would then be able to have a stable and buy a new carriage and the two foals he's been eyeing all this time, but he would waste too much time on his commute to work. That would be even more valuable."

A new carriage including horses costs about a hundred pounds… Eight pounds a week is indeed impressive; unfortunately, it hasn't been long since I had a pay rise when… Klein could only smile in response.

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, he bade farewell and left, sighing to himself in his heart.

Mr. and Mrs. Sammer are still considered nice. If I had a mean landlord, I'd have had my deposit deducted and refunded and be asked to get lost after what happened tonight…

After returning home, Klein began laboring. He wasn't in a hurry to go above the gray fog to examine the warm current on the back of his hand, nor was he in a hurry to do divination because he was afraid that the military's special department was still keeping tabs on him.

He decided to go to the bar which Ian had described tomorrow night to buy a gun so as to deal with people who might assault him recklessly in desperation.

Klein even planned to find the means to hire a bodyguard, a powerful Beyonder bodyguard. This was so that first, he could take advantage of the opportunity to contact Beyonder circles without exposing himself, and second, it was because he was also afraid that the ambassador's next assailant would have the ability to hide from the military's special department.

Although it was a slightly comical thing for a Sequence 8 Beyonder—a vengeful evil spirit in hiding—to need a bodyguard, as safety was of paramount importance to Klein.

If the price is too high, I'll blow the copper whistle for Mr. Azik, which, of course, might be more dangerous… I don't know much about Sealed Artifact 0-08… After cleaning up the house, Klein silently muttered.

…

After the purification ceremony ended, the man in the white mask said to Xio and Fors,"No matter what kind of sinister spirit it is, it has already been exorcised by me. Heh, if it has reached the level of an evil spirit that I'm unable to exorcise, it should've given a response. However, there was none."

As he spoke, he poured the water which had condensed on the emblem of the Sun into a small metal bottle and handed it to Xio.

"Sprinkle it in your room to ward off any remnants."

"Thank you." Xio paid him while feeling the pinch, but she felt a lot more relaxed.

Moments after she returned to the living room with Fors, the attendant delivered a note to them.

"Miss Arbiter, who has just bought the Sheriff formula, would you mind having a chat in the study? I might have what you need."

Chapter 232: The Bravehearts Bar

Translator: Atlas Studios Editor: Atlas Studios

Who? How did that person know that I purchased the Sheriff recipe? Xio's dark green pupils contracted as she surveyed her surroundings in astonishment, but she didn't see anyone suspiciously watching her.

According to Mr. A, the transactions here should be very safe and confidential here…Finally, Xio couldn't help but look at the single sofa where Mr. A, whose face was covered by a hood, sat. He was still quietly sizing people up without revealing anything odd.

She nudged Fors with her elbow and whispered, "Should I go?"

Fors took the piece of paper, glanced at it, and replied without hesitation, "Go, at least you still have Mr. A watching. No one would dare to do anything to you, so you can take the opportunity to find out what the other party's goal is. Who knows? You might actually obtain the potion materials you want as a result?"

"That makes sense…" Xio, who was a very proactive person, immediately nodded to the attendant, followed him to the study, and finally, put on a hooded robe.

This hood can cover my entire face, so much so that I can't see the path in front of me… Having worn the hood, Xio opened the door and saw a man dressed in a tuxedo sitting behind a desk.

The man wore a golden mask that revealed his eyes, nostrils, mouth, and cheeks, but it was impossible to identify him.

The light brown eyes behind the golden mask shifted as the man pointed to the chair opposite the desk and said, "Have a seat."

His voice was deliberately hoarse; otherwise, there was nothing special about it.

Xio closed the door to the study, stuck her chest out and raised her head, and sat down in the designated position without feeling intimidated. She then asked, "Do you have the main ingredients for the Sheriff potion?"

The masked man chuckled and said, "Yes, I have the eyes of a Terror Demon Worm and the right palm of a Silver War Bear.

"In fact, that Sheriff potion formula you bought was sold on my behalf…"

No wonder… Xio was often mocked as a brainless person by her good friends, but to survive in the circle of Beyonders, in the gangs of the East Borough, and among the poor, she wasn't a completely reckless person. She had the intuition for danger that was akin to a wild beast.

She asked in a deep voice, "Why are you doing this?"

"To select suitable helpers." The masked man chuckled. "With your financial situation, it'll be difficult for you to gather the money needed for these two Beyonder ingredients in a short period of time. Of course, you can sell the formula at other Beyonder gatherings, but please, believe me, this will bring you unnecessary danger. Our circles might not overlap, but I'm not the only person."

Xio frowned and said, "Since you have such a massive organization and possess the formulas to the Sheriff and Arbiter potions, why do you need my help?"

"There are certain matters we do not wish to deal with ourselves. There are many reasons, but there's no need for me to tell you that. And every Arbiter that embarks on the journey as a Beyonder by themselves has, more or less, some connection with the aristocracy. This is something we need," the masked man explained, simply.

It seems like he doesn't know about my origins, nor is he aware of my reputation in the East Borough… Xio relaxed a little.

The masked man continued, "Just treat it as additional missions beyond the Beyonder gatherings. I will give you some missions and pay you with the corresponding rewards. If you feel that it's dangerous, you can reject them. This is a fair and free trade. Once you save up enough money, you can purchase the ingredients from me."

This… Xio, who was still struggling with her financial situation, suddenly had her heart stir. She continued acting reserved for nine seconds before she said, "As long as I have the right to reject missions, I can consider it."

"No problem." The masked man laughed. "We can agree on where and how we'll meet in the future. To make you feel at ease, we'll concede the right to decide the details to you."

"Alright." Although Xio was still baffled and didn't understand why the other party was offering her missions to perform, she still agreed.

At the very least, she couldn't identify any obvious dangers at the moment.

…

Klein busied himself with buying chairs and tea sets and mending his clothes the whole of Sunday. He spent a total of 6 pounds 9 soli to restore the living room, the dining room, and himself to their original states.

What a loss. I hope that the police department compensates me for my losses from Meursault's estate. Sigh, the chances are slim since it's, at best, just a portion. Klein placed the invoices and receipts neatly in place, waiting for them to be used in the future.

Of course, in terms of income alone, he had made quite a killing. Meursault's Beyonder characteristic was worth at least 300 pounds, or more.

The premise of all of this was that Klein had access to a circle of Beyonders.

After dinner, dressed in a turtleneck sweater, a solid-colored sweater, a grayish-blue worker's coat, and a cap, Klein went out, once again, and made two transfers before arriving at Iron Gate Street in the area of the Backlund Bridge.

He saw Bravehearts Bar after taking a few steps. He saw a seemingly heavy black wooden door and a nearly two-meter-tall brawny man with his arms folded.

The brawny man sized up Klein, but he didn't stop him from pushing open the door, but his throat moved when he heard the cheers inside.

This was when the bar was experiencing its peak business. Before Klein even entered, he felt a heat wave engulf him. He could smell the strong aroma of malt beer and hear a din.

Unsurprisingly, he saw two stages in the middle of the bar. One of them was having a rat-baiting with dogs competition, and the other stage had two boxers patiently waiting for the fight to begin.

The aroma of alcohol mixed with the smell of sweat emanated. Klein lifted his gold-rimmed glasses and pinched his nose. While protecting his belongings, he squeezed his way to the bar counter.

Before the bartender could say anything, he said, "One glass of Southville beer."

This was the best beer that the Loen Kingdom produced.

"Five pence," the bartender replied like clockwork.

Klein took out a handful of coins and counted out five pence before handing them over in exchange for a large wooden cup of golden beer. The aroma of the beer was alluring.

"In front of it, many beers can't even be called alcohol and can only be considered as beverages." The bartender chuckled.

Klein lifted up the cup and took a swig. It was cool and refreshing, first bitter and fragrant, but later, the flavor of malt burst out. It had a slightly sweet aftertaste.

After putting down the cup, he looked at the tiny white bubbles and took the opportunity to ask, "Where's Kaspars Kalinin?"

The bartender stopped wiping the glass in his hand as he looked up and observed Klein for a few seconds before pointing to the side.

"Billiard room 3."

In the spirit of not wasting anything, Klein carried the cup and walked to the third billiard room.

With just a light tap, he allowed the door to creak open.

The two men inside stopped and looked towards the door.

"I'm looking for Kaspars Kalinin." Amidst the silence, Klein hurriedly added, "Old Geezer introduced me."

Upon hearing this, a fifty-year-old man with a big nose and a linen shirt said in a deep voice, "Come in."

He had a huge, twisted scar running from the corner of his right eye to the side of his mouth, and his nose was a typical brandy nose, one that almost completely red.

Klein slowly walked in with the cup in his hand and saw that Kaspars's billiard opponent had put aside his cue stick like clockwork and left the room before closing the door behind him.

Kaspars Kalinin hobbled over and asked, "What do you want?"

"A powerful custom revolver and fifty rounds." Klein took another sip of his Southville beer.

"3 pounds 10 soli." Kaspars gave the price. "This will definitely be more expensive than a regular weapons store. The price includes the risks I have to undertake."

"Deal." Klein took five one-pound notes he prepared from his trouser pocket and counted them.

Kaspars checked for the notes' authenticity before nodding.

"You're more straightforward than you look. Give me five minutes."

He put the notes on the billiard table, leaned against a crutch, and limped to the door.

After watching Kaspars leave, Klein glanced back at the currently trendy billiards and found it to be very similar to snooker on Earth.

It must be you, Emperor Roselle… He nearly lost his composure and laughed while shaking his head.

After a short wait, Kaspars pushed the door open and entered, carrying a package wrapped in brown paper and two five-soli notes.

Klein took the money and the item and opened it on the spot. His eyes caught the long, silvery barrel of a revolver. The grip seemed to be made of walnut wood.

In addition to that, there were fifty glistening rounds neatly placed in the box.

Klein tried the empty gun, loaded five rounds, stuffed the revolver into his armpit holster he bought some time back. Then, he gathered up the remaining bullets and looked up at Kaspars. He deliberated and asked, "If I wish to hire a good bodyguard, who should I look for?

"A very good one, the kind that exceeds human limitations."

Kaspars rubbed his red nose and his eyes turned cold.

He carefully examined Klein for two minutes, using his silence to create a terrible sense of oppression.

"I can make the query for you, but there's no guarantee that someone will accept this mission."

He seems to know more than one Beyonder… Klein smiled and said, "No matter what the result is, please allow me to express my gratitude in advance."

Kaspars put away the bills on the billiard table and walked out again. It was a full ten minutes before he returned to his room. And by then, Klein had already finished his huge cup of Southville beer out of boredom.

"He wants to meet you before making a decision," Kaspars said in a deep voice.

"No problem. I would also determine the difficulty of the mission if it were me." Klein smiled and nodded.

He followed behind Kaspars who hobbled past the crowded boxing ring and into the kitchen of the bar.

Kaspars suddenly stopped and lightly knocked on a door. After gaining permission, he pushed it open and entered with Klein in tow.

It was a card room where more than ten people were playing Texas poker.

A man wearing a black vest and a white shirt slowly stood up after seeing Kaspars and Klein enter the room. The others who were playing cards stopped in their tracks and didn't make a sound.

With a single glance, Klein frowned indiscernibly.

Apart from the man that had stood up, he noticed that all the other players had an indescribable sense of strangeness to them. Their faces were pale, and their eyes were like those of wild beasts.

Tapping his left molar twice, Klein secretly activated his Spirit Vision.

His muscles tensed up abruptly, and he almost couldn't control his expression because the auras of those players were dark black!

That meant that, apart from the man who stood up, the ten plus people playing cards were all dead!

No, they weren't just dead, as the dead had no aura colors

These were all zombies!

The feeling of rotting came over him, and the man in the white shirt and black vest walked in front of Klein.

His face was equally pale, and there seemed to be deep malice in his eyes.