Chapter 103: A Man Who Heeds His Heart

Chapter One Hundred Three
A Man Who Heeds His Heart

“Residence: Number 19, Howes Street area?”

As he memorized the information, Klein keenly grasped a detail.

“Mm. Welch’s residence was in the Howes Street area. The Divination Club is in the Howes Street area. This cloth merchant named Sirius Arapis also lives in the Howes Street area…

“Viewed this way, it is not strange at all that Welch knew Hynas Vincent. He might even have met him through Sirius Arapis…”

All at once, Klein felt the clues join together, and his thoughts became smooth and unobstructed.

He had originally been full of doubt as to why Welch would know Hynas Vincent. This banker’s son was not a mysticism enthusiast. To him, money was far more useful than divination. But now, Klein felt he could make a preliminary inference about how the two sides had become acquainted.

“According to the descriptions in various magazines, the middle class and wealthy are quite willing to visit neighbors of similar status and form social circles helpful to themselves. Welch and the cloth merchant Sirius, both living in the Howes Street area, absolutely had the motive and opportunity to become friends.

“That Sirius knew Hynas Vincent, who often appeared at the Divination Club in the Howes Street area, is not hard to understand either. Perhaps by chance, perhaps through a small favor, people who long appear in the same region can become familiar with one another.

“Hynas Vincent wanted to sell the ancient book in his possession, so through Sirius’s introduction, he found Welch, a university student from the history department.

“Hynas’s dream contained the image of what was suspected to be the evil god, the True Creator. He also grasped proper incantation formats. All this shows that he had gone very deep into the mystical domain. The possibility that he was a member of some secret organization cannot be ruled out.

“And it cannot be ruled out that he joined a secret organization under Sirius’s guidance.”

As thoughts surged, even without using divination, Klein could almost confirm that the other party’s left-behind information possessed no small degree of credibility.

“Even if he is not called Sirius Arapis, not a cloth merchant, and does not live at Number 19, he must belong to the Howes Street area or somewhere nearby!”

While thinking, Klein reexamined the man’s borrowing records.

“The last time he came to Deweyville Library was last Saturday—the day before Selena’s birthday dinner, and also the day before Hynas Vincent died. Several days have passed since then, yet he still has not returned the journals he borrowed.

“Based on earlier records, when he only borrowed two journals, he generally came back the next day.

“Does this mean Sirius learned of Hynas’s death, was frightened, and no longer dared come to Deweyville Library?

“Mm. At first, he borrowed a lot of unrelated history books and journals, and only later gradually clarified his target. They began heavily overlapping with the ones I had borrowed.

“This shows he had no one guiding him, no senior associate professor from the university’s history department to consult. He relied entirely on his own exploration.

“What would a frightened target normally do? Two choices. First, if his materials are basically complete, he will head straight for the main peak of the Hornacis mountain range. Second, if he still lacks the main conditions, he will hide for the time being, observe the situation, and only appear again after confirming that Hynas’s death will not implicate him.”

Thinking to this point, Klein closed the borrowing record and pushed it back toward the librarians. Then he took out the portrait and asked whether they had seen the target. Unfortunately, many borrowers came here every day, and the librarians found it difficult to retain an impression of someone with no especially distinctive traits.

“All right. Thank you for your trouble.”

Klein put away his identification and badge.

He had no intention of single-handedly continuing the investigation alone. That would not only be dangerous, but also tedious. He planned to visit Zouteland Street again, hand the follow-up matters to the Captain and his teammates, and return home to make tomato oxtail soup for his elder brother and younger sister. Along the way, he would use the mysterious space above the gray fog to divine the target’s condition and whereabouts.

“Officer, is there anything else?” one librarian asked sincerely, breathing out in relief.

Klein nodded slightly.

“No. If new clues appear, I will come again.”

Holding his black silver-inlaid cane in his left hand, he strode toward the door.

Just then, he saw a man wearing a black double-breasted frock coat with its collar turned high enter with his head lowered.

The instant they brushed past one another, Klein caught sight of the man’s thick, messy eyebrows and a pair of gray-blue eyes.

Those were parts even a high collar could not conceal.

Sirius? Sirius Arapis? Such a coincidence?

Klein froze, not expecting that he would directly run into his target.

What kind of luck is this?

Isn’t this way too much of a coincidence?

He weighed his own condition and felt the soreness still lingering in his muscles. Pretending nothing had happened, he continued toward the door.

Mm. When living as a person, one should heed one’s heart. Stability comes first!

As long as Sirius has not left Tingen, missing him this time is no great matter.

At that moment, the man in the black double-breasted frock coat walked to the reception desk and handed the journals in his hands to one of the librarians.

“Returning them,” he said in a low, muffled voice.

That librarian casually accepted the journals, glanced at them—and suddenly froze.

Subconsciously, he lifted his head and looked at the man opposite him. His body began trembling beyond his control.

“Is there a problem?”

The man with the high collar asked in a low voice.

That sentence was like the spark that set off a powder keg. The librarian instantly lost control. As he ran to one side, he shouted loudly, “Officer!”

“The criminal is here!”

…

At that very instant, before Klein had even had time to leave, there was only one sentence wildly echoing through his mind:

Fuck!

Instinctively, he reached his right hand under his arm and drew his revolver.

The man first froze. Then he turned and sprinted away.

But he did not rush toward the door. Instead, he fled toward the bay window on the side, seemingly intending to shatter the glass and leap outside.

Klein, who had been panicking badly, saw this when he turned his head. His heart suddenly settled.

Because he discovered that although he was afraid of the target, the target was even more afraid of him.

“In such a hurried encounter, the other party definitely cannot judge my strength and does not know what I am skilled at. So, already guilty and nervous, he will instinctively avoid a direct clash and seek another method of escape.”

Once his heart steadied, Klein raised the revolver and pulled the trigger with a pap.

At that moment, the man in the black double-breasted frock coat abruptly rolled, attempting to evade the bullet.

Immediately afterward, he pressed down with his right hand, and his entire body sprang into the air, pouncing toward the glass of the bay window.

Puff!

Klein’s first shot was a blank.

Yet this was something he had anticipated. Taking advantage of the fact that Sirius was in midair and had difficulty dodging, he pulled the trigger again toward the easiest place to hit: the torso.

Bang!

The silver Demon-hunting Bullet pierced the air and sank steadily into Sirius’s back.

Crash!

The glass shattered. Sirius struck his way outside, leaving drops of crimson blood and glittering fragments upon the windowsill.

Seeing that the other party was injured, Klein was no longer timid. He charged over, climbed onto the windowsill with the help of a chair, and leaped outside.

This was the rear of Deweyville Library’s first floor. Rows of tall, upright trees separated out a green lawn.

Sirius, shot once, was running sideways, trying to enter the narrow alley between two buildings. Klein had not yet trained enough to hit accurately while running, and dared not fire blindly. He could only hold his cane in one hand and his gun in the other, chasing after the black-coated back with long strides.

Thud, thud, thud!

Following the blood dripping onto the ground, he worked hard to shorten the distance between them.

The corner was in sight. Injured Sirius was slowing more and more. Just as Klein was about to seize the opportunity, his heart suddenly throbbed. He felt that the figure ahead was not human, but a wolf, a tiger, something containing terrible danger.

This was his instinct as a Seer. This was his spirituality warning him.

Klein immediately slowed. From the corner of his eye, he swept over the blood on the ground.

Compared with the first drops, the blood now falling from Sirius had turned black.

Just then, a fierce wind rushed toward his face. Reflected in Klein’s pupils was Sirius’s face.

Those were thick, messy brows. Those were gray-blue eyes. Those were protruding tumors, one after another. That was a split-open mouth and stark-white teeth.

At that very moment, Sirius had actually launched a counterattack.

This made his face grow clearer and clearer in Klein’s eyes, until Klein seemed able to smell some awful stench.

Pap! Sirius pounced seven or eight meters, obviously beyond the range of an ordinary person. But because Klein had stopped his pursuit in time, there had previously still been nearly ten meters between them.

At a distance of less than two meters, that mouth dripping viscous saliva and those nauseating clusters of tumors formed a scene so clear and terrifying that Klein’s nerves were stretched taut.

Without thinking, taking advantage of the brief stiffness after the opponent’s pounce missed, he lifted his right hand and pulled the trigger repeatedly, pouring bullets toward the target’s head.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

At such close range, one silver Demon-hunting Bullet after another drilled into Sirius’s skull, blasting blood outward, blurring his features, forcing him backward into a halt.

After emptying every bullet in the revolver in one breath, Klein instinctively tried to retreat and confirm the result.

But at that moment, Sirius, struggling to stand upright, gave him an enormous fright. Klein swung the cane in his left palm with sudden force.

Pap!

The hard black silver-inlaid cane struck Sirius’s neck, raising a deep crimson mark.

Pap, pap, pap!

Driven by instinct, Klein lashed the target again and again until Sirius staggered and collapsed.

Hah! Hah! Hah!

Klein planted the cane against the ground, panting hard while staring fixedly at the target, terrified that the other man might suddenly fake death and spring up again.

By this point, Sirius’s head resembled a smashed ripe watermelon. The remaining dense tumors began to recede, while his body twitched several times before returning to stillness.

Klein did not rush to examine the corpse. Instead, he dropped his cane, took out the Demon-hunting Bullets he carried, and loaded them into the revolver one by one.

Only after completing that did his mind finally settle. Enduring nausea, he half-crouched and began searching the pockets of Sirius’s black double-breasted frock coat.