Chapter 47: One Shot

Chapter 47: One Shot

The three kinds of paper in Leymano’s Travels differed clearly by touch. The white paper, which could only record abilities from Sequence 7, Sequence 8, and Sequence 9, was smooth on the surface and thin to the touch. The yellow-brown parchment corresponding to Sequence 6 and Sequence 5 felt like tanned leather, extremely flexible. As for the three scorched-yellow pages capable of recording divine powers, they were thick and textured, allowing one to distinguish them efficiently without even looking, relying only on quick contact.

Klein’s fingers swiftly found the three thick, textured pages and deftly pinched the middle one.

Although the hidden pocket was not large enough for him to open Leymano’s Travels completely, the hooded robe that the Magician Fors had personally modified still offered a decent amount of space. It allowed the palm-sized magic book to open to roughly ninety degrees.

Klein held the book with his palm to prevent it from snapping shut, while his fingers glided over the surface of the corresponding page. He felt a faint unevenness upon it, letting the strange patterns and symbols, ancient and mystical in flavor, present themselves directly in his mind through touch.

His spirituality infused into it.

The ability recorded on this scorched-yellow page was a demigod power of the Storm pathway:

Tornado!

Klein intended to use it to create chaos, interfere with the Aurora Order saint who might be hidden in the dark, seize the opportunity to kill Mr. X, and escape with the wind.

Beyond that, the chaos would also effectively cover his traces, scattering the gathering members and making them flee in a sorry state. With each person’s identity unclear, all of them would become suspicious to some extent, making it much harder for the Aurora Order to trace the matter back to Xio.

As these thoughts flashed through his mind, Klein locked his gaze onto a specific location and slowly drew Leymano’s Travels out with his left hand.

At the same time, Mr. X took two steps and arrived beside him, standing in the same direction as Klein, as if they were old friends reunited after many years.

In the next instant, a howling sound erupted. A terrifying hurricane visible to the naked eye appeared at the place Klein had designated with his spirituality, coiling and spinning.

The tables, tea tables, sofas, and high-backed chairs in the room were lifted into the air. The violent tornado cracked the walls and tore away the roof as it swept toward the mouth of the alley. Some of the gathering members, standing at the edge of the wind, were flung directly into the distance. Others were pushed forward by the pressure of the gale, staggering as they ran in different directions.

If Klein had not deliberately controlled the timing and direction of the tornado’s emergence, not only would the old house where Mr. X’s gathering had been held have been destroyed, the row of apartment buildings nearby would also have been unable to escape damage. As for the gathering members, they would have been directly caught in the wind, their life or death left entirely to luck.

The howling grew turbulent. The tornado, rising straight into the sky, was like a terrifying giant, lurching toward the alley entrance and then toward the street. Wherever it passed, the ground was swept clean, not a single object remaining.

Klein, too, was blown away. Together with Mr. X, who had been possessed by the Wraith, he was thrown toward another street.

Throughout this process, because the two had been standing close together, and because a Wraith could float and exert a certain degree of control over the target’s body at the edge of the tornado, the distance between Klein and Mr. X remained within five meters. His manipulation of the Spirit Body Threads never stopped.

In midair, wind roaring past his ears, Klein suddenly pulled hard at the front of his robe with his right hand. Tearing open the surface of the hooded robe, he reached beneath his armpit and drew Death Knell.

Given Mr. X’s current condition, even an Air Bullet would have been enough to finish him. But Klein still chose to be cautious, fearing that the other man’s mystical item might have some passive effect, like Admiral of Blood Senor’s necklace.

In hunting, one must go all out!

As Klein made that fierce motion to draw his gun, his control of the Spirit Body Threads was clearly affected. If Mr. X had not already been close to complete control, that single action would have allowed him to recover basic clarity.

Even so, Mr. X’s thoughts were no longer quite so frozen. They grew a little more active.

He tried to struggle, but in that brief span, the possessing Wraith Senor again made all his efforts become stiff, contradictory, and futile.

Then Mr. X’s pupils reflected the enemy falling sideways through the air—the half of a thin face and the corresponding sharp lines.

In his vision, the other party coldly cocked the hammer and aimed at him with the dark barrel of a revolver.

Bang!

Klein pulled the trigger without the slightest hesitation, and the roar of the gunshot was swallowed by the wind.

Mr. X’s head snapped backward, as if an invisible hand had pressed down upon his face.

His head and his brass mask split into countless fragments at that moment, spraying red and white fluid in every direction.

One shot, fatal.

Death Knell tolled for him.

Thud!

After firing that shot, Klein landed on his back, crashing onto the street.

Thud. Mr. X fell nearby. The gore and fragments scattered through the air flowed backward in an uncanny reversal, converging at his neck and piecing together a head covered in cracks and seams.

This was the Wraith’s ability.

At that moment, the tornado, having lost maintenance, began to collapse. And the enormous commotion just now, without question, had been sensed by demigods in the distance.

Inside the Church of the Holy Wind, the newly appointed Archbishop of Backlund, Deep Blue Officiant Radar Valentine, instantly flew out of his room and floated into the sky.

Klein, fallen upon the ground, saw that the wind pressure had weakened. In one hand, he gripped Death Knell; in the other, Leymano’s Travels. He was just about to turn the latter to the first page of the yellow-brown parchment section.

Only after obtaining this magic book had he discovered that among its original recorded pages was Traveler’s Door.

Klein had initially thought it was a coincidence, but after careful consideration, he felt it was inevitable. Leymano’s Travels belonged to the ancient Abraham family. They controlled the Apprentice pathway and many corresponding mystical items. They had both the resources and the desire to record the abilities of a Traveler. After all, this was very, very, very useful.

At this moment, as long as Traveler’s Door took shape, Klein would be able to calmly leave with Mr. X’s corpse, which was possessed by the Wraith Senor.

The reason he had not used it inside the house was that the Aurora Order saint who might be present had not been disturbed and had a chance to discover and interrupt him. Moreover, Mr. X was a Traveler, and there was a certain probability he could use the Door of Teleportation to escape his predicament. Before Mr. X was completely dead, Klein did not want to take that risk.

Just then, Klein’s vision abruptly darkened. He discovered that the surrounding street was filled with invisible liquid—pitch-black and uncanny. It flowed toward him, quickly condensing into a sturdy cage.

Within that darkness, shadows came alive one after another, their cold gazes all falling upon him.

Demigod-level power! The Aurora Order really does have a saint nearby! I can’t teleport directly!

Klein’s heart tightened, yet he calmly flipped Leymano’s Travels to a scorched-yellow page.

Sizzle!

Silver-white “pythons” leaped into existence, tangling with one another as they rampaged through the darkness, illuminating everything.

Lightning Storm!

The solidified blackness instantly shattered, and Klein did not hesitate in the slightest. He thrust the right hand holding Death Knell into the hidden pocket and pinched the dark-green stone covered in scorch marks.

“Door!”

His tone was exceptionally calm as he spoke the word in ancient Hermes.

Pale-blue radiance burst forth. Klein’s figure rapidly grew blurry, and Mr. X’s corpse, which had drawn near and grabbed his shoulder, underwent the same change.

The two figures instantly turned transparent and incorporeal, disappearing from where they stood. Within the spirit world, vivid colors overlapped in layers as they swiftly moved away, cleverly escaping.

In the alley littered with splintered wood, shattered stone, strips of cloth, and all manner of debris, and inside the house that had been flattened into an empty lot, someone hidden in the shadows gave a low snort.

“Damn it!”

By then, the other gathering members had already fled the street, while sonic booms came from the distant sky.

…

Xio and Fors, who were searching for ghosts in the East Borough, were startled by the suddenly brightening sky. They hurriedly looked toward the corresponding distance and saw a silver-white forest blooming like a flower.

Its twisted posture and ferocious feeling made them shudder inexplicably despite the great distance. For a moment, they almost did not dare look directly at it.

“What exactly happened over there?” Xio murmured, looking at Fors, who looked back at her, both of them at a complete loss.

Fors actually had a faint guess, but she dared not believe it. This had completely exceeded the level of strength that the World, Gehrman Sparrow, possessed in her mind.

…

Inside a lightless alley, Klein appeared out of thin air with Mr. X’s corpse and landed on the ground.

He showed no panic. First, he left Death Knell inside his hidden pocket. Then, with his right hand, he took another book from his chest:

Groselle’s Travels!

Slap! Klein slapped this travelogue, written by the Dragon of Imagination, Ankewelt, onto Mr. X’s face, smearing its cover with blood.

Moments later, Mr. X’s corpse vanished, leaving only the Wraith Senor in his old tricorn hat and dark-red coat.

Immediately afterward, Klein put away Groselle’s Travels, opened Leymano’s Travels, and turned another scorched-yellow page face-up.

All at once, brilliant light burst from the book. An illusory angel with twelve pairs of wings slowly flew up and descended upon Klein.

Everything passed in the blink of an eye. The alley returned to darkness, illuminated only by silent, dim moonlight.

Klein then took out another small metal bottle, poured out the blood stored inside, and evenly smeared it across the cover of Leymano’s Travels.

After doing all this, he put away his other items, tore off the hooded robe, and casually flicked it aside.

Scarlet firelight sprang up at once, burning the ragged clothing clean.

At the same time, Klein silently grew ten centimeters taller, and his outward appearance became quite ordinary.

Then, using the stars in the sky to determine his direction, and picking up a fallen branch to help him along, he quickly passed through several dark, depraved streets and returned to the cheap hotel from earlier.

Even at this point, he still did not know what weakness he had gained.

Inside the single room of the cheap hotel, Klein changed into his own clothes and returned to the appearance of Gehrman Sparrow.

Looking at the mad adventurer in the mirror, thin-faced and cold in temperament, he fell silent for several seconds. Then he picked up his half-top silk hat and placed it on his head.

…

Above the house that had become flat ground, the Church of Storms cardinal, Archbishop of the Backlund diocese, Deep Blue Officiant Radar Valentine, who had failed to catch the mouse, silently looked down. For a long while, he said nothing.

…

At 160 Böklund Street, Butler Walter looked at the visitor outside the door with slight surprise.

“Bishop, what brings you here so suddenly?”

Bishop Elektra laughed amiably.

“I heard Dawn is ill, so I came to visit him. Perhaps under the Goddess’s protection, he will soon recover.”