Chapter 19: Bravehearts Bar

Chapter Nineteen
Bravehearts Bar

Who? Why would someone know I purchased the Sheriff formula?

Xio’s dark-green pupils contracted. Stunned, she looked around, but she discovered no suspicious gaze.

According to Mr. A, trades conducted here should be very safe and very confidential… In the end, unable to restrain herself, Xio looked toward that single sofa and saw that Mr. A, his features hidden by the shadow of his hood, was still quietly watching the crowd without showing the slightest abnormality.

She nudged Fors lightly with her elbow and asked in a low voice, “Should I go?”

Fors took the note, glanced at it, and answered without hesitation, “Go. At least Mr. A is still watching right now. No one would dare do anything to you. You can use the chance to figure out what the other party’s true purpose is. Maybe you really can obtain the potion materials you need.”

“That makes sense…”

Xio was someone with strong ability to act. She immediately nodded to the attendant and once again followed the other person to the outside of the study, where she draped a hooded robe over herself.

This hood covers my entire face. I can barely see the road in front of me…

After putting the hood on properly, Xio opened the door and entered. She glimpsed a man in a black tailcoat sitting behind the desk.

On the man’s face was a mask like gold. It exposed only his eyes, nostrils, mouth, and cheeks, making it impossible to imagine what he truly looked like.

Behind the golden mask, pale-brown eyes shifted. The man pointed at the chair across from the desk.

“Sit.”

His voice was deliberately low and hoarse, but contained nothing otherwise special.

Xio closed the study door behind her, held her chest out and head high, and took her seat with no loss of bearing. She asked directly, “You have the main ingredients for the Sheriff potion?”

The masked man laughed softly.

“Yes. I have both Terror Demon Worm eyes and the right palm of a Silver-white War Bear.

“In fact, that Sheriff potion formula was something I asked someone to sell on my behalf.”

No wonder…

Although Xio was often mocked by her good friend for not having a brain, the fact that she had survived in Beyonder circles, among East Borough gangs and the poor, proved that she was not completely reckless. She had an animal-like instinct for danger.

She asked in a deep voice, “Why would you do that?”

“To screen for suitable helpers,” the masked man replied with a chuckle. “Judging from your financial situation, it will be very difficult for you to gather enough money to buy those two Beyonder ingredients within a short period. Of course, you could resell the formula at other Beyonder gatherings, but believe me, that will bring you unnecessary danger. Our circles may not fully overlap, but I am not alone.”

Xio frowned.

“Since you have a large organization and possess the formulas for Sheriff and even Arbiter, why do you still need to find me for help?”

“There are certain matters we do not wish to handle personally. There are many reasons for that, but I have no need to tell you. And every Arbiter who steps onto the Beyonder path by themselves has more or less some noble connections behind them. That is also what we need.”

The masked man explained roughly with a few sentences.

It seems he does not know my origins. He is not even clear about my reputation in the East Borough…

Xio relaxed slightly.

The masked man continued, “Treat this as commissions outside a Beyonder gathering. I will give you certain tasks and pay you corresponding compensation. If you think it is dangerous, you can refuse. This is a fair and free transaction. Once you save enough money, you can come to me to buy the materials.”

This…

Xio, who was worried precisely about her finances, was immediately tempted. After remaining reserved for nine seconds, she said, “As long as I have the right to refuse a task, I can consider it.”

“No problem.”

The masked man laughed loudly.

“We can decide now on the location and method of future meetings. In order to reassure you, the initiative will be given to you.”

“All right.”

Although Xio was still full of confusion and did not understand why the other party wanted her to do things, she nevertheless agreed.

At least, for now, she could not see any obvious harm.

…

Throughout the entire Sunday daytime, Klein was busy buying chairs, buying tea sets, and mending clothing. He spent a total of six pounds nine soli, restoring the living room, dining room, and himself to their previous conditions.

“What a loss. I hope the police department will compensate me from Meursault’s estate in the end. Sigh. Hope is slim. At most they will cover part of it.”

Klein neatly put away the invoices and receipts, waiting for a chance to use them later.

Of course, from the pure perspective of income, he had actually earned quite a bit. Meursault’s Beyonder characteristic was worth at least three hundred pounds, perhaps even more.

The premise of all this was that Klein could come into contact with Beyonder circles.

After dinner, Klein put on a plain-colored sweater and a gray-blue worker’s coat, wore a newsboy cap, and went out again. After transferring twice, he arrived at Iron Gate Street in the Backlund Bridge area.

After walking only a few steps, he saw Bravehearts Bar. He saw its seemingly heavy black wooden door and a burly man nearly two meters tall standing with arms folded.

The burly man sized Klein up but did not stop him from pushing the door open. Only when cheers and the sound of clinking cups came from inside did his throat move once.

This hour was the peak of business for the bar. Before Klein even entered, he felt heat rush over him. He smelled the intense fragrance of ale and heard loud, chaotic noise.

Unsurprisingly, he saw that the center of the bar held two platforms. On one, a dog-catching-rats contest was being staged. On the other, two boxers waited patiently, preparing for the fight that was about to begin.

The smell of alcohol mixed with sweat came at him. Klein adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and pinched his nose. While protecting the valuables on his body, he worked hard to squeeze toward the bar counter.

Before the bartender could speak, he said first, “One Southville beer.”

This was the best beer produced within the Loen Kingdom.

“Five pence,” the bartender answered smoothly.

Klein took out a handful of coins and counted five pennies for the man, receiving in exchange a large wooden mug filled with golden liquid. The beer’s fragrance was rich and enticing.

“Compared to this, many beers cannot even be called alcohol. They are only beverages,” the bartender said with a laugh.

Klein lifted the mug and drank. He immediately felt a crisp, refreshing taste: first bitter fragrance, then the rushing flavor of malt, and finally a faint sweetness in the aftertaste.

Setting down the mug and glancing at the fine, white foam, he seized the chance to ask, “Where is Kaspars Kanlinen?”

The bartender stopped wiping a cup. He raised his head and scrutinized Klein for a few seconds, then pointed to the side.

“In billiards room number three.”

Following the principle of not wasting anything, Klein picked up his mug and walked to the outside of billiards room number three.

He only knocked lightly, yet the door creaked open.

The two men inside, both holding cues, stopped and looked toward the doorway at the same time.

“I am looking for Kaspars Kanlinen,” Klein said into the silent atmosphere. He hurried to add, “The Old Man introduced me.”

Hearing that, the half-century-old man with a large nose and a linen shirt said in a deep voice, “Come in.”

Across his face was an enormous gaping scar, stretching from the corner of his right eye all the way to the right side of his mouth. His nose was a classic rosacea nose, almost entirely stained red.

Carrying his mug, Klein slowly entered. He saw Kanlinen’s opponent set down his cue familiarly, leave the room, and close the door behind him.

Kaspars Kanlinen limped around the billiards table and asked, “What do you want?”

“A specially made, high-powered revolver and fifty bullets.”

Klein took another sip of Southville beer.

“Three pounds ten soli,” Kaspars quoted. “It is definitely more expensive than a regular weapons shop. That includes the risk I am taking.”

“Deal.”

From his trouser pocket, Klein took out five one-pound notes he had prepared earlier and counted four to the other man.

Kaspars casually checked their authenticity and nodded.

“You are more straightforward than you look. Wait five minutes.”

He set the banknotes on the billiards table, leaned his cue properly, and limped toward the door.

After watching Kaspars leave, Klein looked around idly at the current popular billiards setup and discovered that it was very consistent with mature snooker on Earth.

It must be you again, Emperor Roselle…

He nearly shook his head and laughed.

After waiting for a while, Kaspars pushed the door open and entered. In his hands were an item wrapped in brown paper and two five-soli notes.

Klein accepted the money and the item, then opened it on the spot. Reflected in his eyes was a silver-white revolver with a slightly longer barrel. Its grip seemed to be made of walnut.

Apart from that, there were fifty brass-yellow bullets neatly arranged in a box.

Klein tested the empty gun, loaded five bullets, and slid the revolver into the underarm holster he had purchased in advance. After putting away the remaining bullets, he raised his head toward Kaspars and carefully said, “If I want to hire an impressive bodyguard, who should I look for?”

“Very impressive. The sort who surpasses human limits.”

Kaspars rubbed his red nose, and his gaze immediately turned cold.

He scrutinized Klein seriously for two full minutes, using silence to manufacture a terrifying sense of pressure.

“I can ask for you, but I cannot guarantee anyone will accept the task.”

He seems to know more than one Beyonder…

The corners of Klein’s mouth lifted.

“No matter the result, please allow me to express my gratitude in advance.”

Kaspars put away the banknotes on the billiards table and left once again. A full ten minutes later, he finally returned to the room. By then, Klein had already finished the large mug of Southville beer out of boredom.

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

“No problem. If I were him, I would also first evaluate the task’s difficulty.”

Klein smiled and nodded.

He followed the limping Kaspars through the crowded side of the boxing platform and into the area of the bar near the kitchen.

Kaspars suddenly stopped and lightly knocked on a door. After permission was granted, he led Klein inside.

It was a card room. More than a dozen people inside were playing Texas Hold’em.

Seeing Kaspars and Klein enter, a man wearing a white shirt and black waistcoat slowly stood. As for the other card players, they all stopped moving. Not one of them made a sound.

With one sweep of his eyes, Klein furrowed his brows almost imperceptibly.

He discovered that aside from the man who had stood, the rest of the players all carried an indescribably eerie quality. Their faces were pale, and their eyes were like those of beasts.

Lightly tapping the left side of his teeth twice, Klein quietly activated spirit vision.

His muscles abruptly tensed. He nearly failed to control his expression, because the aura colors of those card players were all deep black.

This meant that among the dozen or so people playing cards, aside from the man who had stood, the rest were all dead.

No, not purely dead. The dead have no aura colors.

These are all living corpses!

A rotting feeling surged toward him. The man in the white shirt and black waistcoat walked up to Klein.

His face was equally pale, and within his eyes there seemed to be thick malice.