Chapter 141: Nightmare

Chapter One Hundred Forty-One
Nightmare

The exhausted Klein removed the sealed wall of spirituality, allowing the night breeze, carrying the scent of grass and trees, to blow across his face and clear his mind somewhat.

He rubbed the warm, classical Sealed Artifact 3-0782 in his palm and sighed sincerely in his heart.

“Who could have imagined that this badge actually fused with a drop of divine blood… The powerhouses of the Church of the Eternal Blazing Sun probably searched for it before, but failed to find it…”

After moving his neck, Klein did not dare attempt any other ideas. He wore the Mutated Sun Sacred Emblem inside his thin windbreaker once more.

Following the chain, he took out the vine-patterned silver pocket watch and snapped it open. He found that more than an hour remained before Corpse Collector Frye would come replace him.

“My eyelids need two matchsticks to hold them up… This is the aftermath of courting death!”

Left with no choice, Klein took a small metal bottle from one of his hidden pockets, pulled out the stopper, and held it beneath his nose.

The pungent smell of mint mixed with disinfectant swiftly drilled into his nostrils, stimulating gooseflesh all over him. His spirit brightened at once, and he instantly forgot his drowsiness.

This was a formula he had learned from Corpse Collector Frye. It was called Kragg Oil. It could help a person resist rotten smells and other foul odors, while also providing a refreshing, mind-awakening effect.

The next hour or so was particularly torturous for Klein. From time to time, he stood and paced around. Several times, mosquitoes and insects from the woods bit him and sucked his blood.

Finally, he saw Frye—high-nosed, thin-lipped, black-haired and blue-eyed, wearing a thin windbreaker and holding a cane—walk out of the town.

Though the other man still looked cold and gloomy, like a living corpse, Klein felt as if he had seen his savior. Covering his mouth, he yawned until tears nearly filled his eyes. Then he walked forward and removed Sealed Artifact 3-0782 from inside his clothes.

“Did something happen?” Frye looked at his teammate’s pale, ugly complexion and took the initiative to ask.

Klein sighed.

“I was guarding Chanis Gate last night, and I did not sleep well this morning, so I am terribly sleepy now.”

He did not explain further. Instead, he changed the subject. “Do I return to replace you in four hours?”

“Seven hours. The Captain does not need to sleep at midnight,” Frye answered, accepting the Mutated Sun Sacred Emblem.

Cultivation makes people happy…

Klein silently slandered his Captain, bid Frye farewell, and walked toward the town.

As he approached the inn along the street, he casually took out his pocket watch again and checked the time.

“Huh. He is nearly ten minutes earlier than the agreed time…”

“What a warmhearted person…”

Klein smiled, quickened his pace, returned to the inn, pushed open the half-closed front door under the innkeeper’s examining gaze, and went upstairs to his room.

After locking the door and removing his coat and shoes, he did not wash himself. He simply fell straight down onto the bed.

Within a dozen seconds, his breathing first grew heavier, then long and steady.

In his sleep, Klein returned to Earth. Before him was the game he had not yet cleared. To his left sat iced cola and spicy chicken wings; to his right were bitter bamboo shoot and pork slice soup, and rice.

He had never eaten bitter bamboo shoots by themselves, but he dearly liked soup made from them and sliced pork. The broth was refreshing and appetizing, yet carried a little enticing richness. It was perfect poured over rice.

With a plate of good dipping sauce on the side, he could eat a full extra bowl compared to normal!

Just as Klein was about to properly enjoy his late-night snack and go wild on the game, the dream scene abruptly changed, once again presenting the interior layout of Number 2, Daffodil Street.

Klein suddenly grew alert and clearly knew that he was dreaming.

He saw himself seated at the side of the dining table, holding a copy of the Tingen Daily. Before him lay tomato oxtail soup, pan-fried lamb chops, mashed potatoes, oat bread, and other foods.

Subconsciously, he turned his head and looked toward the main door—only to abruptly see a figure standing outside the oriel window corresponding to the living room, silently gazing at the people inside.

Klein was startled. Then he recognized the deep gray eyes of Dunn. Half of the Captain’s face was pressed against the window as he wordlessly watched the figures inside.

…Captain, please do not scare people in dreams, all right? Is this how you act as a Nightmare?

Klein thought, both irritated and amused. Then he picked up a soup spoon, scooped up a piece of beef, and put it in his mouth.

Mm. That is my cooking!

He sighed to himself and understood why he had suddenly become aware inside the dream, and why the Earth scene had vanished in an instant.

When someone invaded his dream, he would naturally become alert.

At that moment, Dunn moved away from the oriel window, directly pushed open the Moretti family’s door, and, wearing a black windbreaker, quietly walked to the seat opposite Klein.

He removed his hat, gave a light nod, and sat down. Without the slightest courtesy, he picked up knife, fork, and spoon, then ate the tomato oxtail soup, pan-fried lamb chops, mashed potatoes, oat bread, and the rest of the food on the table at extraordinary speed.

Klein stared blankly, unable to understand what his Captain was trying to do.

Hoo. Dunn breathed out in satisfaction and gave Klein a thumbs-up. Then he took out his pipe and matches, drawing a puff with intoxicated enjoyment.

Exhaling smoke, he stood, picked up his hat, and gave a traditional yet steady bow. Then he stepped away from the Moretti home and out of the dream.

“…”

Klein watched the Captain’s back for a long time, unable to regain his senses.

He lowered his head, looked at the empty plates, and subconsciously tried to recreate the food from before.

But this time, no matter whether tomato oxtail soup, pan-fried lamb chops, or mashed potatoes, none of them could appear again in his dream.

“They were completely ‘eaten’? Is this a Nightmare’s ability?”

The corner of Klein’s mouth twitched as he thought helplessly.

“So the Captain’s purpose was to make sure I could not eat a midnight snack even in a dream? This really is a nightmare… His acting as a Nightmare is truly creative…”

He laughed despite himself, left the dream, and fell asleep again.

At five-thirty the next morning, Klein, forced to rise early, drank coffee, ate toast and bacon, then hurried outside the town to replace Dunn.

At seven, they departed on time for Tingen City.

Before ten, they arrived at Number 36, Zouteland Street. Dunn, energetic and refreshed, returned Sealed Artifact 3-0782 to Chanis Gate. Frye sat before the mechanical typewriter and personally wrote yesterday’s mission report and the corresponding reimbursement request, since the civilian staff had not yet arrived.

Klein watched for a while, satisfied to see that all materials he had used had been listed, including the portion he had used to repel mosquitoes and insects.

He did not immediately go home, because he had already arranged through coded correspondence to meet Dr. Daxter from the asylum at one in the afternoon in their agreed place.

“And then there is the Tarot Gathering at three… Why must I, the boss of a secret organization, live so tiredly?”

Klein muttered silently to himself. He lay in the Nighthawks’ lounge for two hours to catch up on sleep.

As for the knowledge and matters he had obtained the previous night, he was not worried about forgetting them. They could be recalled through divination. What he feared was that he might overlook the existence of that knowledge and those matters, losing even the thought of divining them. Therefore, before sleeping, he reviewed all the details in his mind again to deepen the impression.

This was also the reason Klein insisted on writing weekly summaries and organizing all kinds of information.

After lunch, he took out his pocket watch and glanced at the time. Then he put on his hat, left Blackthorn Security Company, and arrived at Zouteland Street Shooting Club, Number 3.

Pushing open the door and entering the reception hall, Klein did not go directly to the shooting range that belonged to the Nighthawks. Instead, he found a seat in the hall, rested both hands on his black cane, and waited patiently.

The meeting place he had agreed upon with Daxter was precisely this Zouteland Street Shooting Club.

Their agreed method was letters. When Klein needed to meet, he would write to Dr. Daxter Guderian in the identity of a patient’s family member, asking about a special illness called “split personality.” In the letter, Klein would mention the word Spectator in various ways, using it together with ink dots hidden in certain places to confirm his identity. The time point casually mentioned in the letter would be the meeting time.

As for the meeting place, they had already decided it during their first discussion. If Klein felt it should be changed, he would explain it during a face-to-face meeting.

If Daxter Guderian wanted to meet but it was not urgent, he could send a letter to the Hound Pub or to this shooting club, addressed to “Mr. Hornacis,” and wait for Klein to pick it up at fixed intervals.

If there was an emergency, however, he had to hand the letter directly to Wright, the owner of the Hound Pub, and mention the phrase “looking for mercenaries.” That way, Wright, as a peripheral member of the Nighthawks, would immediately deliver the letter to Blackthorn Security Company.

After waiting for a while, when it was two minutes before one, Klein saw the refined-looking Daxter enter the shooting club’s hall.

He wore a black silk top hat, a fitted tailcoat, and carried a silver-inlaid cane. A pair of gold-rimmed spectacles rested on his face.

Daxter discreetly scanned the hall halfway around and saw Klein nod faintly. He withdrew his gaze, approached the counter, and skillfully applied for a shooting range and rented firearms.

He had already come here once before.

“Small shooting range Number 7. Three soli per hour. Revolver rental fee, one soli six pence per hour, including six bullets…”

The lady in charge of reception quickly handled everything.

After Daxter confirmed a one-hour rental and paid the ten-soli fee, he received the revolver and extra bullets, then followed the attendant into the corresponding range.

Klein waited another five minutes before leisurely standing. Carrying his cane, he came outside small shooting range Number 7 and knocked on the door.

With a creak, the door opened a crack. Daxter first vigilantly leaned out and glanced left and right, then made way.

Klein immediately slipped inside and locked the door behind him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Daxter,” he said while taking out a ten-soli note and handing it to the other man. “We do not make peripheral members bear meeting costs.”

Because I can get reimbursed…

He silently added this in his heart.

Daxter did not refuse. He accepted the cash and asked in a deep voice, “Officer Moretti, why did you ask to meet me this time?”