Chapter 23: The Sidearm Weapon

Chapter Twenty-Three
The Sidearm Weapon

Walking along Zouteland Street, feeling the warm damp breeze against his face, Klein was in high spirits when a sudden thought struck him.

He had only three pence in loose change left on him. Returning to Iron Cross Street by public carriage cost four pence. To hand over a one-pound note and ask for change was like buying a cheap bottle of mineral water with a hundred-yuan bill back before he transmigrated. It was not that there was no other way—he simply could not bring himself to do it.

“Use three pence to ride three kilometers and walk the rest of the way back?”

Klein kept one hand in his pocket, slowed his steps, and considered other methods.

“No!”

Very quickly, he rejected the earlier idea.

Walking the remaining distance would take quite a while, and with the “huge sum” of twelve pounds on his person, it was far too unsafe.

Besides, because he had been worried the Nighthawks might casually confiscate his revolver, he had deliberately not carried it today. If some danger caused by Welch’s death truly appeared, he would have no ability to resist at all.

“Find a bank nearby and exchange for smaller notes? No. No, absolutely not. A five-per-thousand handling fee is too extravagant!”

Klein shook his head soundlessly. Merely thinking of the possible fee made his heart ache.

One method after another was rejected. Then Klein’s eyes suddenly lit up. He saw a clothing and hat shop.

Of course. Was the most normal way not to buy something of suitable price and receive change?

A formal suit, shirts, waistcoat, trousers, leather boots, and a walking cane were all within the budget. Buying sooner or later made no difference.

Mm. Trying on clothes is troublesome, and Benson understands such things better than I do. He is also better at bargaining. That can wait until he returns…

Then buy a cane?

Excellent. There was a proverb that said a cane was a gentleman’s best self-defense weapon, almost half a crowbar. A gun in one hand and a cane in the other—that was the civilized man’s way of fighting.

With thoughts crowding through him, Klein made up his mind. He half-turned, then entered the shop called Vilker’s Clothing and Hat Store.

The store’s layout resembled clothing shops from before his transmigration. Along the left wall hung a row of formal suits. In the center were shirts, trousers, waistcoats, neckties, and the like. On the right were leather shoes and boots displayed behind glass cabinets.

“Sir, what would you like to buy?” A male clerk in a white shirt and red waistcoat came forward and asked politely.

In the Loen Kingdom, gentlemen of status, power, and wealth liked to wear white shirts, black waistcoats, black trousers, and black formal coats. Their colors were monotonous indeed. Therefore, male servants, clerks, and waiters were required to wear brighter or more colorful clothing, distinguishing master from servant, high from low.

By contrast, ladies and young misses wore dresses in varied colors with splendid ornaments, while maids could only wear black with white, or white with black.

Facing the male clerk’s question, Klein considered briefly and said, “A cane. A little heavier. A little harder.”

The kind that could crack open someone’s dog head.

The red-waistcoated clerk discreetly looked Klein over, led him inside, and pointed toward a row of canes in the corner.

“The one inlaid with gold is made from ironheart wood. It is very heavy and very hard. Eleven soli and seven pence. Would you like to try it?”

Eleven soli and seven pence? Why don’t you just rob me? Is a bit of gold inlay so amazing?

Klein was shocked by the price.

Outwardly calm, he nodded slightly.

“All right.”

The red-waistcoated clerk took down the ironheart cane and carefully handed it to Klein, as though afraid he might damage the merchandise.

The instant Klein received it, he felt its weight. He tried moving it and discovered that he could not swing it smoothly at all.

“Too heavy.”

Klein shook his head while breathing in relief.

That was not an excuse.

The red-waistcoated clerk put the ironheart cane back, then pointed to three others in turn.

“This one is walnut, made by Mr. Hess, the most famous cane craftsman in Tingen. Ten soli and three pence… This one is lignum vitae, silver-inlaid, as hard as steel. Seven soli and six pence… This one is made from the heartwood of white boly. Also silver-inlaid. Seven soli and ten pence…”

Klein tried them one by one and found their weight fairly suitable. Then he bent his fingers and tapped each in turn, roughly grasping their hardness. In the end, he chose the cheapest.

“The lignum vitae one,” Klein said, pointing toward the silver-inlaid head of the cane in the clerk’s hand.

“Very good, sir. Please follow me to pay. In the future, if this cane becomes worn or stained, you may bring it to us and we will help you treat it free of charge.”

The red-waistcoated clerk led Klein to the counter.

Taking the chance, Klein unfolded the four pound notes clenched in his palm and drew out one of the smaller two.

“Seven soli and six pence, sir,” the clerk behind the counter said with a smiling bow.

Klein had wanted to maintain a gentlemanly dignity, but when his left hand reached out holding the one-pound note, he still could not stop himself from asking, “Can it be a little cheaper?”

“Sir, these are handmade. Our costs are very high,” the red-waistcoated clerk answered from the side. “And the owner is not here. We do not have the authority to lower the price for him.”

The clerk behind the counter echoed him.

“Apologies, sir.”

“Fine.”

Klein handed over the banknote and received the black cane with the silver-inlaid head from the red-waistcoated clerk.

While waiting for change, he stepped back a few paces, creating some distance, and tested the swinging effect of his “sidearm weapon” with small motions.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

The sound of wind was heavy, the parting of air satisfyingly solid. Klein nodded in satisfaction.

He turned his gaze back ahead, ready to see notes and coins, only to discover in astonishment that the red-waistcoated clerk had retreated far away, while the clerk behind the counter had shrunk into the corner, pressed close to the double-barreled shotgun hanging on the wall.

The Loen Kingdom implemented semi-control over firearms. To carry a gun, one needed either an “all-category weapon permit” or a “hunting permit.” But neither permitted ownership of military-controlled weapons such as repeating rifles, high-pressure steam guns, or six-barreled machine guns.

With an all-category weapon permit, one could freely purchase and keep any kind of civilian firearm, but obtaining it was extremely troublesome. Even merchants of some status might fail the review. A hunting permit, by contrast, was relatively easy to obtain. Even farmers in the suburbs could acquire one. But this kind of license was limited to shotguns and had quantity restrictions. Quite a few people with some assets would apply for one as protection in a crisis—such as now…

Klein looked at the two clerks, both full of caution, and the corner of his mouth twitched. He laughed dryly.

“Not bad. This cane is very suited for swinging. I am quite satisfied.”

Seeing that he had no intention of attacking, the clerk behind the counter relaxed. He offered the change of notes and copper coins with both hands.

Klein took them and glanced down. There were two five-soli notes, two one-soli notes, one five-pence copper coin, and one one-penny copper coin. He nodded inwardly.

After pausing for two seconds, he ignored the clerks’ gazes, held each of the four banknotes up to the light, unfolded them one by one, and confirmed that the anti-counterfeit patterns and watermarks were correct.

Only after all this did Klein put the notes and coins away separately. Holding the cane, he adjusted his top hat and walked out of Vilker’s Clothing and Hat Store like a gentleman. Extravagantly, he took a nearby trackless public carriage. After one transfer and a total fare of six pence, he returned smoothly to the apartment.

Once he had closed the room door, he counted the eleven pounds and twelve soli three times before placing them into the desk drawer. Then he found the pistol with the brass cylinder and wooden grip.

Clink, clink, clink!

Five brass-colored bullets fell one after another onto the desk. Klein took the silver Demon-hunting Bullets, each engraved with complex patterns and the sacred emblem of darkness, and loaded them into the cylinder one by one.

As before, he inserted only five, leaving one chamber empty to prevent accidental discharge. The remaining bullets, along with the five ordinary rounds he had just removed, went into the small iron box.

Snap!

The cylinder closed, and Klein immediately felt far more secure.

In high spirits, he placed the revolver into the underarm holster and fastened it firmly. Then, again and again, he practiced unfastening the buckle and drawing the gun. When his arms grew sore, he rested a while before continuing. He did this until the sky darkened and the sounds of tenants moving about appeared in the hallway.

Hoo!

Klein exhaled stale air and placed the revolver back into the underarm holster.

Only then did he take off his formal coat and waistcoat, put on his everyday brownish-yellow jacket, and begin stretching his arms.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Footsteps approached. A key entered the lock, and the sound of turning followed.

Melissa, her black hair falling smoothly over her shoulders, pushed the door open and entered. Her nose moved almost imperceptibly. Her gaze swept over the stove, which had not been lit at all, and the brightness in her eyes dimmed slightly.

“Klein, I will cook the leftover ingredients from last night together. Benson might be back tomorrow.”

Melissa turned to look at her brother.

Klein kept both hands in his pockets, one thigh leaning against the edge of the desk. He smiled.

“No. We are going out to eat.”

“Going out to eat?” Melissa repeated in astonishment.

“How about the Silver Crown Restaurant on Daffodil Street? I heard the food is excellent,” Klein suggested.

“But—but…”

Melissa still had not grasped the situation.

Klein smiled.

“To celebrate my finding a job.”

“You found a job?”

Melissa’s voice rose without her noticing.

“But—but the interview at Tingen University is not until tomorrow.”

“Another job.”

Smiling, Klein took the stack of banknotes from the drawer.

“They even advanced me four weeks of salary.”

Melissa stared at the gold pounds and soli, her eyes wide.

“Goddess… You—they—you found what kind of job?”

This…

Klein’s expression stalled. Carefully considering his words, he said, “A security company whose mission is to search for, collect, and protect antiquities. They need a professional consultant. A five-year contract. Three pounds a week.”

“…Were you troubled last night because of this?” Melissa was silent for a moment before asking.

Klein took the opportunity and nodded.

“Yes. Becoming a teacher at Tingen University is more respectable, but this is the job I prefer.”

“…It is actually very good too.”

Melissa showed him an encouraging smile, then asked with both confusion and curiosity, “Why would they advance you a full four weeks of salary?”

“Because we need to move. We need more rooms. We need a washroom of our own.”

The corners of Klein’s mouth lifted as he spread his hands.

He felt that his smile was perfect. He was one line short of asking, Surprised?

Melissa stared blankly. Then she suddenly spoke very quickly, sounding rather flustered.

“Klein, where we live is actually not bad. When I complain sometimes about not having our own washroom, it is only habit. Do you still remember Jenny? She used to live next door to us. After her father was injured and lost his job, they had no choice but to move to Lower Street. A family of five can only live in one room. Three sleep on the bunk bed, two on the floor, and they are even thinking of renting out the remaining bit of space on the floor to someone else…

“Compared with their family, we are already very good and very fortunate. Do not waste your salary on this. And I like Mrs. Slin’s bakery very much.”

Little sister, this reaction is not the script I imagined at all…

Klein listened, his face blank with astonishment.