Chapter 78: Psychological Shadow

Chapter Seventy-Eight
Psychological Shadow

El Hassan agreed.

“Indeed. It is difficult to imagine the subsequent Sequence after Seer being Clown. By normal logic, no one would connect the two.”

“Is that so strange? I remember quite a few Sequence potions along various pathways also lack any necessary connection before and after.”

The black-haired lady, Lorotta, covered her mouth and yawned. It could be seen that her injuries were relatively serious; even Goddess’s Gaze could no longer keep her in vigorous condition.

“No, Lorotta. This is completely different. Other Sequence potions, however disconnected they may seem, still share some common point if we look at them from another angle. But Seer and Clown do not. I cannot understand it at all.”

El Hassan shook his head and sighed.

Listening to their discussion, Klein gave a short laugh and said, “No. They do have something in common.”

“What is it?” El asked curiously. Even Dunn’s arm-bending motion clearly slowed.

Klein answered with perfect seriousness, “Whether it is a Seer or a Clown, both can be found in a circus.”

“…”

El, Dunn, and Lorotta all froze on the spot.

“Pfft… Not bad. I like young people like you!”

The black-haired Madam Lorotta was the first to recover. She laughed aloud.

El then smiled as well, shaking his head.

“In this age, gentlemen capable of self-mockery are becoming fewer and fewer. Fortunately, today we have met another one.”

You think I enjoy making fun of myself? I simply could not think of any other common point…

Klein grumbled inwardly a couple of times, then replied with a faintly bitter smile.

“I only hope the potion names along this Sequence pathway do not continue with Tamer, Acrobat, Magician, and the like. If that happens, it really will form a circus.”

And it would be a one-man circus at that…

“Haha.”

Dunn and the others were immediately amused by his words, and the carriage filled with a cheerful atmosphere.

The carriage continued forward and soon arrived at Zouteland Street. Klein, who had suffered almost no injuries, was the first to enter Blackthorn Security Company.

“Goddess! What happened to you? How did you become like this?”

Rozanne, glancing over casually, cried out in astonishment.

Klein lowered his head and looked at his dirty and damaged formal suit. His heart still ached as he answered, “Missions always have this or that accident. Fortunately, thanks to the Goddess’s blessing, the ending was good.”

“Praise the Goddess!”

Rozanne devoutly drew the crimson moon over her chest.

Without waiting for Klein to speak, she took the initiative and asked, “Do we need to hide on the third floor again? Is that Sealed Artifact really that dangerous?”

“Believe me, it is even more dangerous than you imagine,” Klein answered with lingering fear.

If I had not possessed the even more mysterious luck-changing ritual, I would have died today at 2-049’s hands!

“Goddess…”

Rozanne’s lips moved, as though she had many more words to say and many more questions to ask. But considering that the Captain was waiting downstairs, she finally restrained the impulse and called Mrs. Orianna and the others upstairs.

The buildings to the left and right of Blackthorn Security Company, as well as those above and below it, either belonged to Church property or were inhabited by devout clerics who vaguely knew the situation.

After all the civilian staff had withdrawn, Klein did not rush to the entertainment room to notify the other Nighthawks. Instead, he returned at once and assisted the Captain and the others in escorting Sealed Artifact 2-049, the monster Bieber’s remnants, and the Antigonus family notebook to the second floor.

Through the partition, Dunn pushed open the door to the entertainment room and said to the two Nighthawks playing Quint, “Frye, Royale, go to Tyrrell Warehouse in the docks district at once and assist Leonard with the aftermath.”

“All right.”

Royale, the woman with black hair and a cold expression, was the first to rise.

Frye, the Corpse Collector with black hair, blue eyes, and pale skin, then stood as well.

They set down their Quint cards and walked out of the entertainment room. When passing through the partition, they both obviously paused.

“Wait.”

Dunn lived up to everyone’s expectations and called out.

“Is there anything else?”

Royale, the Sleepless, turned her head with no change in expression.

“Remember to notify the police. Have them block off the roads. Before you have finished handling the scene and transported the corpse back, do not let anyone approach.”

Dunn lightly slapped his forehead as he spoke.

“All right.”

Royale turned around and walked two steps forward, then stopped again.

She looked back, blinked, and confirmed in a cold, flat voice, “Captain, is there anything else?”

“No.”

Dunn answered with decisive certainty.

Royale nodded almost invisibly and took the lead toward the main door.

Frye, whose bearing was cold and gloomy, maintained his same unhurried pace.

Just then, Dunn spoke once more.

“Remember—remember to tell Rozanne and Mrs. Orianna that they can come down now.”

“No problem,” Frye answered, his voice calm to the point of nearly lacking any emotional fluctuation.

Watching the two Nighthawks leave the door and head upstairs, Klein quietly let out a breath. Then he followed the Captain, El, and the others underground, walking straight ahead until they arrived before the double Chanis Gate.

“Go to the armory and ask Old Neil to come. We need his ritual magic treatment.”

As Dunn signaled to Kenley, the Sleepless on duty, to open Chanis Gate, he gave Klein instructions.

As the potion’s effect began to fade, his energy gradually withered.

“All right.”

Klein did not wait for the Captain to add anything. He continued on his own, “I will take Old Neil’s place guarding the armory. I will also apply for at least twenty more Demon-hunting Bullets and wait for the Sanctuary’s approval. I will restrain my curiosity toward the Antigonus family notebook.”

“…”

For a moment, Dunn could not find words to answer him.

“Captain, is there anything else?”

Having successfully answered in advance, Klein asked with a smile.

Dunn shook his head and still failed to speak.

Klein retrieved his cane, turned, walked a short distance, then turned into the armory, where he gave Old Neil, who was drinking plain water, a rough summary of what had happened.

“Turned into a monster that lost control… and you killed a Beyonder?”

Old Neil quickly cleared the desk.

“I feel as though I am listening to the script of a play.”

Muttering, he circled around the table and headed straight for the corridor, without waiting for Klein to answer.

Klein, however, asked rather curiously, “Mr. Neil, does the Church not have real healing potions? It still needs the help of ritual magic?”

“Potions made from ordinary materials cannot preserve the healing effects obtained from rituals for long. Extraordinary materials are very rare, and most of them are not suitable for such things,” Old Neil explained casually. “You should know about Goddess’s Gaze by now, yes? When that potion is first created through ritual, it is a standard, genuine healing potion. But every minute afterward, its effect evaporates, until only a little remains.”

“So that is how it is…”

Klein nodded, somewhat disappointed.

As a former “keyboard adventurer”—in other words, a game lover—longing for healing potions was practically habit.

Watching Old Neil leave, he sat down and felt a peace that seemed to have been absent for a long time.

In that peace, he recalled the tailcoat clown’s miserable state at the moment of death. He recalled his own cold-blooded shots. He recalled that hideous wound and the blood pouring out in streams.

Klein’s body gradually began to tremble. His heart was full of discomfort. First he stood, then sat, then slowly repeated the process, mixing in several rounds of pacing back and forth.

“Hoo…”

He exhaled and decided to find something for himself to do, lest he keep remembering those unpleasant images.

Klein removed his top hat, took off his formal suit, drew out a handkerchief and brush, and began carefully cleaning mud and dust from his clothes.

He did not know how long had passed before he heard Old Neil’s familiar footsteps—the distinctive sound made by a heel landing first.

“Truly exhausting…”

Old Neil complained as he walked into the room.

“Tell the others not to come here for an hour. I need some rest.”

His gaze swept over Klein, and he casually gave the instruction.

“How about going upstairs to rest while I guard here?” Klein kindly suggested.

Old Neil shook his head.

“Upstairs is too noisy. Little Rozanne is a girl who never stops talking.”

“All right.”

Klein did not insist. He put on his coat, wore his hat, picked up his cane, returned to the corridor, and pulled the armory door half-closed behind him.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He walked slowly through the empty passageway, then suddenly noticed a room off to the side that he had never seen before.

“So there is a hidden door here…”

Klein stopped near the corner and looked into that room from a distance.

He discovered that the Corpse Collector Frye had already returned and was inside, carefully examining a completely stripped corpse.

A corpse?

Klein’s heart stirred. Summoning his courage, he approached the room and lightly knocked three times on the open door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Frye stopped moving and turned. His blue, icy eyes looked over.

“Sorry to disturb you. I only wanted to know whether that is the Beyonder’s corpse,” Klein asked after considering his tone.

“Yes.”

Frye’s thin lips opened and closed, yet only one word emerged.

Klein looked past him toward the corpse and, sure enough, found that familiar, hideous wound on its forehead.

It is the tailcoat clown…

Klein exhaled silently and asked, “Have you found anything?”

“No.”

Frye answered with exceptional concision.

The atmosphere became awkward at once. Klein was just thinking of taking his leave when Frye proactively spoke.

“If you feel uncomfortable, you can come in and take a look. You will discover that this is only a corpse.”

Is he afraid I will have a psychological obstacle?

Klein nodded thoughtfully.

“All right.”

He entered the room, came to the long table covered with white cloth, and looked at the corpse.

All the red, yellow, and white greasepaint on the tailcoat clown’s face had been removed, exposing an unfamiliar face with nothing distinctive about it: black hair, a high nose bridge, around thirty years old.

At that moment, Frye walked to the square table in the corner, picked up a pencil stub and a sheet of white paper.

He returned near the corpse, set down the paper, held the pencil, and began sketching rapidly.

Curious, Klein glanced over and discovered that Frye was actually drawing the tailcoat clown’s head.

Before long, Frye stopped the pencil. On the white paper was an exceptionally lifelike portrait. Compared with the corpse, it merely lacked the wound and had a pair of blue eyes added.

A talent…

Klein praised him in surprise.

“I did not expect—I truly did not expect your sketching to be so good.”

“Before becoming a Nighthawk, my dream was to become a painter,” Frye said without the slightest fluctuation in tone.

“Then why did you not pursue that dream?” Klein asked in confusion.

Frye put down the pencil, holding the portrait of the tailcoat clown.

“My father was a priest of the Goddess. He hoped I would become a priest as well. It is a sufficiently respectable profession.”

“You were a priest?” Klein asked again in astonishment.

He found it difficult to imagine someone of Frye’s personality and bearing serving as a priest.

“Mm. I did not do badly.”

Frye’s expression remained cold, yet the corner of his mouth seemed faintly lifted.

“Later I encountered certain things, experienced certain things, and became a Nighthawk.”

Klein did not dig into another person’s private matters. He changed the subject and asked, “Since you were once a priest of the Goddess, why did you not choose Sleepless?”

“A personal reason,” Frye answered frankly. “And Madam Daly is a good example.”

Klein nodded and was just about to change the topic when he heard Frye say, “Watch this place for me. I must immediately give the portrait to the Captain… Closing the hidden door is troublesome.”

“All right.”

Although Klein felt somewhat afraid of facing the corpse alone, he forced himself to agree.

As Frye left, the room became quiet. The corpse lay there, pressing heavily on Klein’s heart.

He inhaled, then approached the long table as though trying to overcome himself.

The tailcoat clown lay silently. His face was pale, his eyes closed, and all breath gone. Aside from the hideous wound, he emitted the unique coldness of the dead.

Klein stared for a while, and his mood gradually settled, as though he had calmed.

His gaze swept over and noticed a strange brand on the tailcoat clown’s wrist. Summoning courage, he reached out to touch it, intending to turn the wrist over so he could see more clearly.

The cold sensation had only just traveled from Klein’s fingertip into his brain when that pale hand, utterly devoid of life, suddenly sprang up and grabbed his wrist.

Grabbed it tightly.