Chapter 201: So You Were Here Too

Chapter 201: So You Were Here Too

Black “Spirit Body Threads” belonging to different living beings appeared in Klein’s eyes, but he did not immediately extend his own spirituality to attempt manipulation.

After distinguishing and confirming which Spirit Body Threads belonged to Mosona, he gulped down a mouthful of malt beer and focused on admiring the boxing match in the ring, just like a true spectator.

The two boxers were bare-chested and wore no protective gear. They fought with all their strength. Their bodies collided again and again; every punch landed solidly. Very quickly, the match became heated.

Many drunkards and gamblers watching from around the ring felt their adrenaline surge. They fanatically shouted the name of the fighter they supported and yelled:

“Beat him to death!”

“Kill that son of a bitch!”

On the second floor, Mosona had forgotten the cigar in his hand as well. He stared fixedly at the ring below, one hand already clenched tightly into a fist.

Among the people around him, aside from the bodyguards responsible for watching suspicious individuals in the surroundings and guarding key areas such as the roof and downstairs—so that they had no choice but to keep their backs to him—the others inevitably placed their attention on the blood-pumping boxing match.

Klein once again lifted his hand and gulped down a mouthful of beer, as though the tense atmosphere had made it hard for him to breathe.

At that moment, his spirituality silently spread out and seized the illusory black thread corresponding to Mosona.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds… Mosona, with his rosacea, had just been about to move his fist slightly, as though he himself were fighting in the ring, when his mind suddenly went numb.

He felt that the scene around him had suddenly become somewhat strange, as though several layers of thick glass had been added over it.

Mosona then discovered that his thoughts had grown distinctly sluggish. It was as though every part inside his head had suddenly rusted.

Because the target was only an ordinary person, and his spirit-body strength was far inferior to that of a Beyonder, Klein did not need twenty seconds to initially control him.

Seven seconds!

Only seven seconds!

Something’s wrong… There’s a problem… It should be… a Beyonder… with a rather special… ability… Mosona frequently dealt with pirates and was not unfamiliar with the mysterious world. That was why he had paid an enormous price to hire Beyonders to protect him. If his body had not been hollowed out early by wine and women, leaving his mind weak and his condition poor enough that taking a potion would most likely make him lose control, he would have directly obtained that supernatural power himself.

At that moment, because his thoughts were sluggish and he had no experience, Mosona spent more than ten seconds before finally understanding that he was under attack. He immediately stretched his arm forward and opened his mouth, trying to call for help.

However, his movements were so slow, and the sound in his throat was so faint. The bodyguards beside him were focused on the tense, fierce boxing match. The crowd’s shouting rose in wave after wave. The guards at the perimeter, meanwhile, had their attention on places from which an attack might come, not on the heavily protected employer in the middle. The obvious abnormality was simply overlooked.

By the time the climax of the fight temporarily calmed and some bodyguards and subordinates turned back to look at their boss, all they could see was Mosona’s somewhat blank gaze and the slightly unnatural position of his hands. It seemed as if he were still immersed in the boxing match, anxiously awaiting the final result.

Tears seeped from the corners of the underworld boss’s eyes. He struggled to loosen his fingers, wanting to let the cigar fall to the floor and attract attention.

Yet he discovered in despair that his thoughts were becoming slower and stiffer. Even a simple movement seemed to take more than a minute to complete, while his fingers were still resisting his will!

Pa!

The burning cigar finally fell to the floor, and Mosona’s tears slid down his cheeks to his neck.

Several bodyguards noticed this and were just about to ask whether the boss had become too emotional because of the match, when Mosona suddenly bent down, wiping his face as he picked up the cigar.

“This match is excellent! Add money for the final winner!” Mosona flicked his cigar, tugged at his collar, and drew the corners of his mouth into a smile.

He did not say exactly how much to add, because Klein had no idea what the going rate was. He could only give a vague instruction.

Yes, Mosona of the New Loen Party had already become his marionette!

Because this underworld boss was only an ordinary person, and his spirit-body strength was even weaker than that of a healthy normal human, Klein had spent only two minutes and fifteen seconds!

If it had taken any longer, Klein would have had to split his attention to create chaos with illusions, making the bodyguards focus only on protecting Mosona and leaving them no time to discover his abnormality.

“Beat him to death!”

“Beat him to death!”

…

The spectators’ shouting suddenly became uniform, and the fight in the ring entered its final stage. Mosona also signaled for his bodyguards to continue watching the match.

After one boxer collapsed unconscious, Mosona took a drag from his cigar and said, “To the room.

“I need to rest for a bit.”

“Yes, boss.” His bodyguards and subordinates immediately escorted him into the second-floor corridor and helped open the door to the lounge.

After instructing the guards to hold all key positions and not enter or disturb him, Mosona paced back and forth a few times, opened the safe, found file after file related to the new drug, and selected the most important ones.

Next, he placed those documents, a strip of paper with an address cut from a newspaper, and all 758 pounds in cash into a briefcase.

With a creak, he opened the door and called over one of his subordinates.

“Throw this bag under the third streetlamp in the alley around the corner.”

“Yes, boss.” His subordinate did not ask why.

That was the rule!

After closing the door again, Mosona found three candles and a spiritually rich item. Using white paper and a fountain pen, he carefully drew the emblem corresponding to The Fool—the special symbol formed from half a “pupilless eye” symbolizing concealment and half a “twisting line” symbolizing change.

Then, this underworld boss who had already become a marionette lit the candles, used perfume in place of essential oils and hydrosols, and solemnly performed a ritual to request bestowal.

He whispered The Fool’s honorific name, recited the corresponding incantation in ancient Hermes, a language he had originally known nothing of, then picked up the spiritually rich item and let it merge into the wind. Together with the changing candle flames, it constructed an illusory door—if he had not found an item rich in spirituality, Klein’s plan had been to use Mosona’s blood. Human blood was itself something that possessed spirituality!

Inside the washroom on the first floor, Klein seized this opportunity and took four steps counterclockwise, arriving above the gray fog.

He did not use the Black Emperor card. Instead, he directly leveraged a small amount of power from this mysterious space, connecting it with a paper figurine before flicking it into the door of sacrifice and bestowal.

The paper figurine immediately turned into an angel with twelve pairs of wings on its back. It flew through the illusory, mysterious door, passed through the pitch-black, profound void, and arrived at Mosona’s side.

This was to interfere with any subsequent divination, prophecy, or investigation using other Beyonder powers!

Immediately afterward, Klein picked up Creeping Hunger and threw it into the ritual door as well.

Borrowing the ritual for requesting bestowal, Creeping Hunger arrived in the real world and appeared before Mosona. Having gone so long without feeding, it immediately grew restless!

At that moment, Klein returned to the washroom. From dozens of meters away, he again manipulated the previously frozen Mosona to tightly close his mouth and pick up the glove from the “altar.”

A crack instantly split open in the center of the glove. Inside were two rows of illusory, ghastly-white teeth!

The senses Klein obtained from the marionette quickly weakened. He made a prompt decision and directly released his control.

The slight backlash made his head a little dizzy, but it did not take long for him to return to normal.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he left the washroom, returned to the bar counter, and continued drinking the unfinished malt beer from earlier.

At the same time, using Spirit Body Threads, he found an old rat on the second floor. In less than two minutes, he turned it into his marionette.

The rat, moving somewhat stiffly and clumsily, searched for holes and passages. After spending some time, it passed through an area shielded by a bookshelf and entered Mosona’s lounge.

By then, lying quietly on the floor was a thin glove that looked as though it were made of human skin. Mosona had not left behind even a scrap of clothing.

The rat climbed onto the table, bit the paper bearing The Fool’s corresponding symbol, and held it to the burning candle.

The paper quickly caught fire and turned into ash.

After extinguishing the three candles and returning them to their original positions, the rat came to Creeping Hunger’s side and bit the glove.

Then it returned by the original route, leaving Mosona’s lounge.

It crept all the way to the second floor’s exterior balcony and silently climbed down.

On the first floor, beside the bar counter.

Klein drank the final mouthful of beer, put down the glass, and slowly stood up.

He pressed down his half top hat, placed both hands into the pockets of his black double-breasted frock coat, and walked unhurriedly past the drunkards and gamblers, out onto the street.

Following the glow of the gas streetlamps, he made his way at a normal pace to the alley around the corner. While taking out a paper figurine, flicking it, and igniting it, he picked up the briefcase beneath the third streetlamp.

At that moment, a gray rat darted out from the darkness, dragging the thin human-skin glove in its mouth.

Expressionless, Klein bent down once more and picked up Creeping Hunger.

Then the gray rat left on its own, climbed into a trash bin, lay down inside, and completely lost its breath.

In the already descended night, under the glow of the gas streetlamps, Klein stood there, unhurriedly spreading his five fingers and putting Creeping Hunger onto his left hand.

After moving his finger joints and adjusting to the glove, he put away the briefcase, passed the still lively and energetic Oak Bar, and vanished at the street corner.

…

After taking out the address strip and stamps from the briefcase, attaching them to the briefcase that now contained only the important documents, and placing it in a mailbox at the street corner, Klein changed back into Gehrman Sparrow’s appearance and took a rental carriage toward another bar located near the harbor.

That was one of the bars Anderson had told him contained many pirates!

Entering the bar, Klein swept his gaze around and took in the general appearance of the place.

Suddenly, he saw a familiar figure.

The figure was of medium build. His lips were purple, and his brown eyes hid a powerful malice that made people fearful. It was the second mate of the Undying King Agalito, Slaughterer Gilchies, whose bounty was 9,500 pounds!

Clearly, after fleeing the exit of the dangerous waters, the Death Knell had also come near the nearest Toscarter Island to seek supplies.

So you came too… The corner of Klein’s mouth curled faintly. He discovered that there was no more suitable way to hunt a Devil than a chance encounter!

The malicious thought had only just arisen in his heart when Gilchies sensed it. He turned his head toward the bar entrance.

Klein, without hesitation, grabbed a beer from the table beside him and hurled it over.

Immediately afterward, he drew his revolver and coldly aimed in that direction.

Bang!