Chapter 73: First Battle

Chapter Seventy-ThreeFirst Battle

Under the bright afternoon sun, Klein’s clothing was stained with dust. He quickly adjusted the firing position of the revolver and cocked the corresponding mechanism, putting himself in a state where he could fire and hit an enemy at any moment. The brass-colored metal of the gun reflected flowing light.

He gripped the gun with one hand, extending it forward, alert to possible changes around him.

At the same time, he was somewhat worried about Captain Dunn and El Hassan, the gentleman in the gray double-breasted windbreaker. They were both Nightmares, better at secretly influencing enemies. Whether they could handle direct confrontation remained uncertain.

Just as the thought turned through Klein’s mind, El Hassan voluntarily slowed his charge. His expression became tranquil and sorrowful.

He opened his mouth and began chanting a poem that made the heart peaceful, as though one had entered night:

“When the sun sinks in the west,And dew is on the evening’s breast,Pale as moonlight she appears,Or like the stars that follow near;The evening primrose, fed by night,Unfolds her frail and graceful light,A hermit bloom that shuns the sun…”

The chanting spread outward. Klein nearly lost his tension and relaxed completely.

Fortunately, he had similar experience before and was not in the direction El Hassan was facing. He quickly settled his mind, using a half-meditative state to resist the influence of the “poem.”

Whew…

He sighed inwardly in relief, no longer doubting Dunn and El’s ability in frontal combat.

Because he had advanced only recently and could not claim to know much about Sequence potions, he had forgotten that Sequence 7 Nightmare advanced from Sequence 8 Midnight Poet, preserving the earlier abilities in full and improving them slightly.

As for Klein’s impression of Midnight Poet, it came entirely from Leonard Mitchell. He knew that this profession likewise inherited the special traits of Sleepless, was skilled in combat, shooting, climbing, and sensing, and could use poems of different styles to influence the living beings around them in different ways. In simple terms, they were violent poets.

Within El Hassan’s chanting, ripples suddenly appeared beside a stack of large wooden crates. A man wearing a black tailcoat and a half-top silk hat emerged.

Yet this man’s face was painted in red, yellow, and white greasepaint, forming the image of a “clown” whose mouth corners curved sharply upward. It created an absurd and laughable contrast with his formal attire, which looked suited for a banquet.

Tap, tap, tap! The black-haired Lorotta, who had been introduced as an excellent marksman, sprinted forward. One hand held a gun, the other formed a fist. In only a few steps, she closed in on the tailcoat clown.

The tailcoat clown seemed to be affected by El Hassan’s poem. His body swayed slightly. His gaze was peaceful and serene, with no desire to resist at all.

Slap! The black-haired Madam Lorotta sidestepped with a boxer’s footwork, raised her arm, and swung her fist toward the tailcoat clown’s face.

Boom!

The air exploded. The tailcoat clown abruptly shattered like a mirror, piece by piece, swiftly evaporating and vanishing.

At that very moment, several steps away in the dim area beside the wooden crates, the tailcoat clown’s figure rapidly outlined itself and reappeared.

The fellow affected earlier had only been an illusion. Only a performance.

As before, the tailcoat clown’s mouth split into a ridiculous smile. One hand pressed his half-top hat, and the other rose before he abruptly snapped his fingers.

Bang!

His finger-snap produced the sound of a firearm. Lorotta lunged left first and rolled repeatedly to dodge.

But nothing happened, except for the fake gunshot.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Dunn and El each raised their guns and fired steadily. The tailcoat clown moved left and right, sometimes retreating, sometimes rolling, his agile figure resembling an acrobatic…