Chapter 212: The Avenger

Chapter Two Hundred TwelveThe Avenger

In the north of the Loen Kingdom, September’s wind carried a few threads of chill within its coolness. After passing through the cemetery, it gained an even colder, more piercing quality.

Klein shivered from the wind and abruptly came back to himself. With a bitter smile, he muttered, “So this transmigration really does hide a few secrets…”

“But from the look of it, at most I can ‘revive’ only two more times. I wonder if this recovery ability, which normally does not appear, would still work if I were chopped into mincemeat…”

…

After calming himself for dozens of seconds, Klein buttoned his shirt and discovered that what he wore was his newest shirt and formal tailcoat, though both were now stained with quite a bit of soil.

…Benson and Melissa really do not know how to be frugal…

The thought surfaced instinctively. Bracing a hand against the side, he flipped himself up and stood, discovering that his Clown abilities had not disappeared.

“The best elder brother… The best younger brother… The best colleague…”

Klein looked toward the tombstone and silently recited the epitaph carved upon it. His heart suddenly clenched with sour pain, as though he finally felt the grief Benson and Melissa had endured.

This might be even harder to bear than watching the Captain die before my eyes…

He sighed, withdrew his gaze, crouched, and closed the coffin lid again.

Although his thoughts were still somewhat scattered, Klein knew that he had to handle the scene as quickly as possible. He could not let anyone discover him.

Resurrection was not something ordinary people were meant to play with.

If the Nighthawks, the Mandated Punishers, or the Machinery Hivemind learned of it, Klein believed he would meet no good end. Of course, if this were Earth, and if the potion he had consumed were Lawyer or Swindler, perhaps he could fool people into believing he was a “favored one of God” or “a redeemed man.” But this world had true gods—true gods who responded to rituals.

Once more filling the grave with soil and covering it with the stone slab, Klein clapped dirt from his hands and stood again.

In this place and at this moment, without any further special details, he looked merely like a gentleman who had come late at night to mourn a friend. The only thing wrong was that the person in the photograph on the tombstone looked exactly like him.

During the process just now, his inspiration had sensed the existence of Azik’s copper whistle, so he had dug it out and wiped it clean.

However, Klein did not intend to summon the messenger immediately. He decided first to understand the current situation.

Raising his left hand, he saw the citrine pendant still wound around his wrist.

“This counts as a burial object now, does it not?”

He smiled self-mockingly, unwound the pendulum, then lifted his head and looked around. His expression gradually grew solemn.

“…The Captain should also be buried in this cemetery, right…?”

He changed directions twice in succession and finally used the pendulum to determine the location of Dunn’s grave.

Borrowing moonlight as he walked and searched, after more than ten minutes, Klein saw the Captain’s black-and-white photograph: gentle expression, relatively high hairline, the gray of his eyes faintly visible, hardly different from usual.

Below the photograph were Dunn’s name, date of birth, date of death, and epitaph:

“A true guardian;”

“The most trustworthy companion;”

“Forever our Captain.”

Klein stared blankly at it. For some reason, his vision blurred again. In a daze, he returned to that day, to the moment he saw the Captain turn his head, wink his left eye at him, and say in that mellow voice, with an easy tone:

“We saved Tingen.”

Captain…

Klein called soundlessly.

Like a statue, he stood there for several minutes. Then he suddenly gave a faint smile and said, “Captain, your mental state that day must really have been poor. You even said that if Old Neil had…