Chapter 20: Warning

Chapter 20: Warning

At 160 Böklund Street, inside the study with excellent natural light.

Rows of bookshelves lined the room, holding a vast collection. At a glance, one might think they had entered a private library.

Klein sat in a high-backed chair, reading the newspapers of the day. He discovered that whether it was the Tussock Times or the Backlund Daily, both had added a conspicuous advertisement: the transfer of ten percent of the shares in the Backlund Bicycle Company.

Mr. Stanton is quite efficient. It has only been a few days, and he has already completed the financial investigation and valuation…

No sooner had Klein sighed inwardly than his spiritual intuition was suddenly stirred.

He quickly activated his Spirit Vision and saw Miss Messenger Reinette Tinekerr step out of the void. She was still carrying those four blond, red-eyed heads, and one of them had a letter clamped between its teeth.

It should be Miss Sharron’s reply… As Klein thought this, he reached out to take it and gave a slight nod.

“Thank you.”

While speaking, he subconsciously glanced toward the door of the study, because his personal valet Richardson was standing outside on duty.

Removing the envelope and unfolding the paper, Klein quickly skimmed it and confirmed that the owner of the letter was indeed Miss Sharron. She expressed that she currently had no intention of purchasing the Biotoxin Bottle. If, after some time, this mystical item still remained available, she might consider it.

Is her financial situation not very comfortable? Or is she saving money for something more important? Klein considered the possibilities casually and instinctively felt that it was probably the latter. After all, the demigod named Zatwin could not remain in Backlund forever. Sharron and Maric could be considered to have preliminarily shaken off the Rose School of Thought’s pursuit, and given their Beyonder strength and pathway characteristics, earning money under looser circumstances should be comparatively simple. Moreover, they seemed to control the black-market arms trade at the Bravehearts Bar and serve as the support behind Ian. That line alone could earn quite a bit.

As his thoughts wandered, Klein raised his head and saw all four pairs—eight red eyes—of Miss Messenger staring at him without turning.

He was startled, thinking that she had come to urge repayment. Clearing his throat, he said, “There is no need for a reply.

“I will pay the first installment of the debt within this week.”

Reinette Tinekerr’s four heads spoke one after another:

“No…” “Need…” “To hurry…” “No interest…”

Miss Messenger is actually quite nice… As Klein sighed inwardly, Reinette Tinekerr vanished from where she stood and returned to the depths of the spirit world.

After burning the letter and resting for half an hour, he walked to the door and instructed Richardson to prepare the carriage.

He planned to visit the church before his afternoon philosophy lesson.

The journey went smoothly. Having taken only a few sips of black tea, Klein soon arrived at the square outside Saint Samuel Cathedral.

After admiring the sense of tranquility brought by the white pigeons for a while, he stepped through the cathedral doors, entered the prayer hall, and casually found a place to sit. Richardson, as before, held his employer’s hat and cane and sat diagonally behind him.

While he prayed with emptied thoughts, Klein’s spiritual intuition was stirred once more. By instinct, he opened his eyes and looked toward the left.

He immediately saw Leonard Mitchell, with black hair and green eyes.

This Nighthawk was not wearing a trench coat. He had on a white shirt that had not been tucked into his belt, paired with straight trousers and a black vest. His style was very casual.

Seeing the middle-aged gentleman with frosted temples look over, Leonard nodded with a smile, withdrew his gaze, closed his eyes, and pretended to pray.

He was not worried that the other party would notice he was observing him, because he had only swept a glance over him and made no extra movements. Quite a few believers had made similar gestures just now.

When a good-looking, dignified gentleman entered such a place, attracting a certain degree of attention was unavoidable. Leonard Mitchell himself had often been looked at in that way and understood it quite well.

At that moment, the slightly aged voice sounded in his mind:

“It is him.”

Heh, so my efforts from yesterday and today, constantly running to church, didn’t go to waste… Leonard thought with a touch of pride, though outwardly, he showed nothing.

Klein was likewise pretending to pray, thinking through the doubts that had risen in his heart.

“When did Leonard become so pious?

“Although he’s definitely more devout than me, he’s absolutely not the kind of person who comes to church every day. Once a week, or even once every two weeks, would be more like him…

“Did he come here with a purpose? He seemed to be observing me just now…”

At this thought, Klein suddenly understood.

“The old man inside Leonard’s body is an angel of the Zoroast family, in other words, an angel of the Marauder pathway…

“The Blasphemer Amon is an Angel King of this pathway. He can discover the gray fog and even tried to invade it…

“Therefore, there is a very high possibility that the old man inside Leonard has already sensed the power—or traces—of the gray fog on me!”

With that judgment made, Klein’s heart immediately tightened, as if dangerous traps had been laid all around him.

He kept his praying posture unchanged. Even his eyes beneath his eyelids did not move. His entire person remained calm and restrained, perfectly matching the atmosphere inside the cathedral.

After an unknown length of time, he slowly rose, walked toward the altar, arrived before the donation box, and placed banknotes totaling 50 pounds inside.

Then, as before, he smiled and nodded to the bishop and priests on duty that day, receiving very friendly responses.

Klein walked all the way out of Saint Samuel Cathedral and took his hat from Richardson’s hands. In the square, he spent more than ten minutes feeding the white pigeons.

Behind him, believers who had finished praying came out one after another, including Leonard Mitchell.

Klein did not look toward the main doors. Leisurely clapping his hands, he took his gold-inlaid cane and walked toward the four-wheeled carriage parked nearby.

Leonard also fed the white pigeons in the square. Watching the target board the carriage and leave, he had no intention whatsoever of following.

Since the other party carried an ancient aura and had attracted the attention of the parasitic being within him, he naturally did not dare be careless, let alone take direct action. That would be extremely dangerous.

He planned to first investigate the periphery and gather the necessary information.

I’ll see what the old man says when the time comes… And it’s not as if there’s no direction for the investigation now. High-end carriages like that are quite limited in number across all of Backlund. Whether privately owned or rented, their source can be easily determined. Then I’ll know that gentleman’s identity and origins…

Leonard looked at the white pigeons and thought leisurely.

He was an experienced Nighthawk, and even an elite among the Nighthawks—a Red Glove!

Just then, a white pigeon flapped its wings and flew over, seeming to hold a slip of paper in its beak.

Leonard frowned and extended his left hand. He watched as the pigeon lowered its altitude, dropped the slip of paper, flapped its wings, and flew away again.

Raising his hand to catch the paper, Leonard opened it with both vigilance and confusion. He saw that there were only two words written on it:

“Zoroast;

“Parasite.”

This… Leonard’s pupils abruptly contracted. He felt every hair on his body stand on end, and his emotions nearly exploded in that instant.

That gentleman saw through my secret?

As expected of someone with an ancient aura!

He might truly be one of those undying monsters left over from the Fourth Epoch!

Is he warning me? Telling me not to interfere in his affairs, or even not to approach him?

At that moment, when Leonard Mitchell recalled that middle-aged gentleman with graying temples and deep blue eyes, he felt as if every movement of the other party carried a tremendous sense of deterrence, making one afraid to look directly at him or draw near.

He instantly lost all desire to investigate him. As he watched the pigeons land together, he lowered his voice and said, “Old man, that person may be an old friend of yours.

“If you want to investigate anything, it’s better to wait until your strength has recovered sufficiently.”

“Old friend…” The slightly aged voice repeated those two words, as though carrying a certain doubt, yet unable to confirm anything.

Leonard quickly reined in his emotions and gave a soft laugh.

“So you’re from the Zoroast family…”

At that moment, at the intersection of Phelps Street and another street less than a hundred meters away.

Dawn Dantes, his black hair threaded with silver, leaned back against the carriage wall and slowly closed his eyes, hiding the sharply defined contours of his face within the shadows of the carriage.

Beside his personal valet Richardson, a middle-aged man wearing a dark-red coat and an old tricorn hat appeared in illusory form. He bowed to his master, then vanished without alerting anyone.

The carriage slowly turned. In the square, a flock of white pigeons took flight with a rushing flutter.

…

After returning home and entering the room with the large balcony, Klein, who had been silent the whole way, finally let out a soundless sigh.

If Leonard, under the instigation of that old man, refused to accept the warning, he would send over another slip of paper. Its content would be:

“I know where the Blasphemer Amon is.”

The implication would be: if you continue to disrupt my affairs, I will tell the Blasphemer Amon that an angel of the Zoroast family is here.

This would not make that old man think that Dawn Dantes was weak and had to rely on someone else to oppose him. Rather, it was closer to a courteous warning—no more than three times—and a show of respect toward an angel.

If he did not rein himself in after two warnings, then Klein’s methods would not be limited to notifying the Blasphemer Amon.

Mm, there’s a high probability I can deter them. That old man choosing a shallow form of parasitism must mean he has other plans or difficulties. He probably won’t be willing to let me overturn the table either… Heh, I really must thank Magic Mirror Arrodes for this. If I hadn’t known in advance that Leonard had a Marauder-pathway angel inside him, I definitely wouldn’t have realized I’d already been watched, much less known how to use appropriate wording and methods to warn them…

Klein’s mood was fairly calm as he thought, no longer tense and panicked as he had been earlier.

As he relaxed, the door was knocked—dong, dong, dong—and the voice of his personal valet Richardson came from outside.

“Sir, the butler is looking for you.”

“Please let him in.” Klein turned away from the large balcony and returned to the semi-open room.

Walter, wearing white gloves, opened the door and entered.

“Sir, your philosophy teacher, Mr. Hamid, has arrived.”

Philosophy lesson… Klein rubbed his temple with a headache.

He had previously heard from Walter that Mr. Hamid was a believer of the Lord of Storms, as was the famous scholar Lurmi, and that a significant portion of the philosophers in the Loen Kingdom were the same.

This had astonished him considerably, because in his mind, believers of the Storm equaled irritable fellows.

It seems I need to change that rigid and not particularly objective impression… Heh, perhaps the prerequisite for becoming a philosopher is being unable to find a wife, or having an unhappy family relationship?

As Klein grumbled inwardly, he straightened his clothes, walked toward the door, and said to Butler Walter, “Very well. I will go over now.”