Chapter 116: Claw Marks

Chapter One Hundred Sixteen
Claw Marks

Backlund Bridge area, Bravehearts Bar.

Klein pressed down the flat cap on his head, carefully protecting the wallet inside the inner pocket of his gray-blue worker’s jacket. He circled around the drinkers gathered near the boxing ring and headed straight for the bar.

Along the way, he looked around but did not discover the black-market arms dealer Kaspars Kanlinen.

Either playing cards or billiards…

Klein nodded to himself and sat down before the bar.

“Half-and-half.”

He had seen someone drink that alcoholic beverage before and felt it should suit his taste.

At least better than pure malt beer…

Klein thought, not without comparison.

The bartender looked up at him.

“Which two drinks? Different choices, different prices.”

“Ordinary ones. Ordinary is fine.”

The man Klein had seen last time had used the lowest-quality varieties, making the entire glass of half-and-half only two and a half pence.

“Four and a half pence.”

Only after seeing Klein line up the brass coins on the bar did the bartender turn around to mix the drink. In passing, he said, “Here to look for Kaspars again? He isn’t here anymore. His business was taken.”

“Ah?”

Klein had not expected that answer.

Before the bartender could reply, a man beside him with protruding lips laughed loudly.

“That’s right. We chased Kaspars away!

“Heh. What right does a crippled old man have to do this kind of business?

“If you want anything, come to us. Come to our boss.”

A gang conflict?

That was the first thought to surface in Klein’s mind, and he was just about to refuse the other party’s proposal.

But then he immediately thought of another possibility.

Could the Rose School of Thought have deliberately found a gang to suppress Kaspars, thereby forcing out Maric and Miss Sharron behind him, making them jump into a trap of their own accord?

Mm. That probability is not low. Kaspars has been a black-market arms dealer here for a long time. He definitely is not someone others can chase away just because they say so. During the recent period, as the serial murder cases kept occurring, the entire atmosphere in Backlund was extremely tense. The Rose School of Thought—or some other secret force, in any case people searching for Maric and Miss Sharron—definitely did not dare carelessly kill and channel spirits to obtain answers. That would create many bloody cases, and they clearly only had a few suspected targets for now, without confirming who had a way to contact Miss Sharron and Maric…

Klein swallowed back the words that had reached his mouth and instead asked, “May I first learn about the prices, then decide whether to buy?”

He planned to observe the ordinary human force that had taken over the black-market trade in Bravehearts Bar. If he found something wrong, he could use it to do Kaspars, Sharron, and Maric a favor.

In any case, Klein did not intend to start any conflict. He was merely preparing to follow normal procedures and take a look. That could not be called an adventure.

“Sure. The only requirement is…”

The man raised a hand before his protruding mouth and made a zipping motion.

“No problem.”

No sooner had Klein answered than the half-and-half was placed before him, and the copper pence were taken away by the bartender.

In the spirit of not wasting anything, he picked it up and drank several mouthfuls. His brows gradually drew together.

Not the taste I imagined. Too much alcohol. Too little grape flavor…

Klein set down the glass and followed the man toward billiard room number three, where Kaspars had usually stayed before.

Just as they were about to reach the door, another thought suddenly occurred to him.

Even I, someone who does not have much information, can guess this might be a trap. Would Miss Sharron and Maric, who have been hunted for who knows how long, fail to realize that? They definitely would not show themselves…

But Kaspars knows more than one Beyonder. He is connected to several Beyonder circles. Perhaps he will find other helpers. That would make matters somewhat complicated.

At that moment, the man with protruding lips stopped before the billiard room door. Klein, distracted, nearly bumped into him.

The man pointed inside.

“Don’t speak carelessly later. Our boss has a bad temper.

“Everyone in the whole Backlund Bridge area and East Borough knows—”

“Good,” Klein said, giving a slight nod.

Satisfied, the man turned and pushed open the billiard room door.

As the door swung inward, Klein saw a figure hanging in the air, swaying gently.

It was a large, bearded man. Around his neck was a rope, a rope tied tight and dead.

His feet had left the floor. The tip of his tongue protruded. His face was blue-purple, and his expression was twisted to an extraordinary degree.

“Boss…”

The man with protruding lips cried out in disbelief.

The tense atmosphere of Backlund has only just vanished, and already someone has acted…

Klein turned his head and glanced at the man’s subordinate, then drew a triangular sacred emblem on his chest with complete seriousness.

“May God let him rest.”

“And may his bad temper be cured thereby.”

The man with protruding lips did not hear what he said at all. He suddenly shouted, “Boss!

“Murder!

“The boss is dead!”

Klein was forced two steps back by the loud and mournful voice. At the same time, he activated spirit vision and examined the interior, but discovered no special traces. Only the billiard balls on the table were scattered chaotically.

Was it done by a Beyonder on Kaspars’s side? How will the force that laid the trap react, if such a trap exists…

Before several gang thugs could rush over, Klein quietly changed position and slipped into the crowd.

He glanced toward the kitchen of Bravehearts Bar and, as though considering something, walked over there, familiarly passing through to the back door.

The moment he pushed open the not particularly heavy wooden door, Klein felt a cold wind strike him head-on, making one shiver.

And within that cold wind was a faint scent of blood.

He listened for a moment and heard no movement. Then he took out a one-penny copper coin and flicked it upward.

The clang was muffled by the wind. Klein lowered his head, looked at the copper penny that had fallen into his palm, and confirmed that the king’s portrait faced upward.

Putting away the coin, he carefully stepped forward, moving slowly in the direction his spirituality indicated.

He walked all the way to a gloomy, dark corner without the illumination of any streetlamp. Only then did the smell of blood suddenly grow thick.

With the help of faint moonlight penetrating the clouds, Klein focused his gaze and almost drew in a breath of cold air.

On the ground lay a chaotic arrangement of bloody thighs, calves, feet wearing leather boots, individual ribs, a heart, arms, eyeballs, and other human “parts.” From the wall hung a length of intestine red with traces of white. The background was large patch after large patch of fresh crimson, dotted with pale-white marks.

Seeing that scene, Klein felt as though he had walked into a slaughterhouse—a slaughterhouse prepared especially for humans.

“This is because they’re afraid the Nighthawks and Mandated Punishers are too idle? Making it so exaggerated, the police department will definitely hand the case over immediately…”

Klein muttered inwardly, using that to resist the discomfort the scene caused him.

He stepped around the bloody areas and approached the wall opposite. There, he was astonished to discover many deep claw marks.

They looked as though they had been dragged out by thick, sharp claws by brute force!

They’re very similar to the claws of that demonic dog after it became huge. Could there be another one? Or could it be that it did not die? No, no. I know what happened…

Klein abruptly understood.

The dead person should be the Beyonder who killed the gang boss inside the bar. He had been dealt with by the force that had laid the trap…

Based on little Sun’s description, I have always suspected that force to be the Rose School of Thought, because they control the Prisoner pathway—also the Mutant pathway.

And one type of Mutant is Werewolf!

That matches the traces at the scene.

It also indirectly proves that Miss Sharron and Maric are defectors from the Rose School of Thought…

Klein calmly retreated step by step from the scene.

During the process, he confirmed that no Beyonder characteristic existed there. Of course, it might simply not have separated out yet.

Next, he turned toward another street, intending to find someone to report the matter to the police, lest such a scene frighten ordinary citizens into thinking some ferocious beast had snuck into Backlund.

Because he did not want to involve himself in trouble out of greed, Klein did not wait for the possible Beyonder characteristic to separate.

Just as he reached the alley exit, he suddenly saw a brown carriage slowly approach through the night.

The carriage did not simply pass by like the others. Instead, it stopped.

It stopped right in front of Klein!

Klein narrowed his eyes, preparing for battle. But neither the Diviner’s spiritual intuition nor the Clown’s combat premonition warned him of danger.

At that moment, the carriage window opened, revealing a pale face with traces of madness. The brown eyes seemed to hide deep malice.

Maric…

Klein recognized him.

It was Maric, the Beyonder who controlled living corpses, Miss Sharron’s companion!

Wearing only a white shirt and black waistcoat, seemingly not afraid of the cold at all, Maric pointed at the carriage compartment, signaling Klein to get in.

For a moment, Klein hesitated, tempted to take out his pendulum and perform a divination on the spot.

Just then, a figure emerged behind Maric: a figure wearing a complicated black court dress and a small soft hat of the same color. It was Miss Sharron, with her pale-blond hair and blue eyes.

If she wanted to harm me, she could do it easily. She can directly emerge from the wall behind me…

After a brief thought, Klein took two steps forward with a deliberately relaxed air, opened the carriage door, and stepped inside.

Once he was seated, the carriage began rolling slowly, destination unknown.

“Why did you come here?” Sharron asked succinctly.

Klein answered calmly, “I wanted to contact you and ask whether you have any books on mysticism. Preferably something fairly deep. As you know, I am lacking in that sort of knowledge.”

Maric looked toward him with those eyes that always held malice, and said in a slightly hoarse, low voice, “We do have quite a bit of mysticism knowledge. For example, the Book of Secrets by Karman the Sorcerer King. But what can you offer in exchange?”

Sorcerer King? Which pathway and Sequence is that?

As the thought flashed through him, Klein considered his tone.

“I can use gold pounds to buy it.

“Or do you need something else?”

Sharron, pale-faced yet exquisitely beautiful, looked at him and answered calmly, without a ripple, “Help.

“Use one favor in exchange.”