Chapter 198: Coming in Succession

Chapter 198: Coming in Succession

Seems to have Balam blood… a university lecturer… It really is Mr. Azik, not someone with the same name… Based on the information Old Kohler had provided, Klein basically confirmed that the one being hunted was Azik, the suspected descendant of Death.

“Then the question is, who—or what organization—is looking for Mr. Azik?

“The Spirit Order, whose ultimate goal is to resurrect Death? Ince Zangwill, who likes being a mastermind in the shadows?

“The latter doesn’t seem likely. Ince Zangwill has Sealed Artifact 0-08, which can make the target act according to his description and achieve his desired outcome through a series of coincidences. He has absolutely no need to rely on gang members and bounty hunters to search for Mr. Azik…

“Wait. What if this itself is an arrangement made by Sealed Artifact 0-08? Ince Zangwill discovered that Mr. Azik was targeting him, but he wasn’t confident he could win in a direct fight, so he used 0-08 to make Mr. Azik come into conflict with a certain force, hoping to eliminate his enemy through indirect means. This bounty would then have been issued by that force… Very possible!

“Of course, the Spirit Order can’t be ruled out either. For the sake of revenge, Mr. Azik may have had a certain degree of contact with them, only for a major disagreement to arise over matters like the resurrection of Death. In the end, that may have led to a break…”

In an instant, Klein thought of two possibilities and their corresponding causes.

He lifted his coffee and took a sip, then said to Old Kohler, “Help me ask around. Find out who issued this bounty and what the exact price is. If it’s suitable, I may keep an eye out as well.”

“No problem.” Old Kohler did not find anything wrong with Klein’s request.

In a sense, there was no essential difference between a private detective and a bounty hunter. The only difference lay in their form of expression. The former would even handle trivial matters like catching adulterers, finding cats, or walking dogs for others, and they preferred deduction to violence.

After Old Kohler finished talking about the other things he had seen and heard, Klein followed the Nighthawks’ training and briefly taught him a few techniques for drawing information out of others, as well as emergency measures for certain situations.

“I should go to the docks. Thank you, Detective Moriarty. You have given me a beautiful life again!” Old Kohler picked up the worn soft hat on the table and thanked him with complete sincerity.

In his eyes, Mr. Detective had not only provided him with a well-paying job, but had also taught him many useful things. Even if the other party no longer needed an informant in the future, those techniques would be enough to let him scrape by in the East Borough, especially once he grew older and less able to do heavy labor.

A beautiful life? In my view, what you have right now is only the most basic life a person should have… After watching Old Kohler leave the cheap cafe, Klein sat there, lost in thought.

This was the first time since he had come to Backlund that he had heard a friend’s name from someone else’s mouth. It was also the first time he might be able to grasp Ince Zangwill’s movements.

For more than three months, especially after killing Lanevus, Klein’s main goal had always been to digest his potion and improve himself.

That was because he was very clear that there was an unbridgeable gap between him and Ince Zangwill, who was most likely already a high-sequence powerhouse. Revenge could not be rushed. The mere thought of Sealed Artifact 0-08 made his blood run cold, leaving him with no desire even to approach or investigate it.

Scene after scene from inside Tingen City’s Blackthorn Security Company once again leapt into Klein’s mind. Those shiny leather shoes were as clear as if they were right before his eyes.

Leaning his head back, Klein slowly exhaled. He picked up his scarf and hat and left the cheap cafe.

…

Hillston Borough, outside a somewhat old house.

Klein stepped down from the carriage, pressed down his hat, and walked straight toward the door.

This was Isengard Stanton’s home.

Several days earlier, the great detective had written to Klein, inviting him over as a guest to discuss a murder case.

Because Klein had been busy with financing for the bicycle project, he had tactfully replied that he had no free time recently, using that as a refusal. Who could have expected that Isengard Stanton would not mind at all? He said the case had entered a dead end and would likely see no breakthrough in the short term, so he would be very happy to wait for Detective Sherlock Moriarty’s visit and looked forward to an exchange that would produce sparks of wisdom.

Klein could only divine a suitable date for the visit, choose the nearest one after the negotiations—which was this very afternoon—and reply to settle the matter with him.

Ding-dang. Ding-dang.

Klein pulled the doorbell twice and took one step back to wait.

More than ten seconds later, the door opened with a creak. The great detective Isengard’s assistant smiled and said, “Good afternoon, Detective Moriarty. Mr. Stanton is waiting for you in the sitting room. Would you like coffee or black tea?”

The assistant was thin and wore gold-rimmed glasses, looking both scholarly and professionally trained.

Klein glanced up at him.

“Black tea. Go easy on the lemon slices.”

“No problem.” The assistant led Klein into the parlor, pointed toward the sitting room door, and said, “My apologies. Our servants are temporary hires, and today happens to be their day off. I’ll have to trouble you to go over by yourself.”

Klein nodded slightly and walked to the first-floor sitting room.

Just as he raised his hand and knocked, he suddenly felt that something was wrong.

My visit to Mr. Stanton was arranged several days in advance. How could I just happen to encounter the day when all the temporary servants are off?

Klein narrowed his eyes and reached into his pocket for a copper penny.

At that moment, the sitting room door, knocked by his hand, swung open from within, revealing a gap that was neither large nor small.

Instantly, it was as though some seal had been released. A thick stench of blood surged out and entered Klein’s nose.

Within his field of vision, the armchair in the sitting room lay overturned on the floor, stained with quite a bit of dark-red blood. A book had fallen beside it, its cover facing upward.

With only that one glance, Klein felt as though he had seen the scene of a murder.

The title of the book entered his eyes:

Demon Legends of the Sivellaus Region.

Demon… Just as Klein was about to act, a fierce wind suddenly swept through the sitting room, yanking the door fully backward at great speed.

Bang!

Klein saw the sitting room in its entirety:

The charcoal in the fireplace had long since burned out, and no redness remained;

The coffee table, sofa, chairs, cabinets, and other objects were overturned or smashed, as though they bore witness to an intense battle;

There were many bloodstains on the carpet and walls, along with numerous scorch marks, yet not a single corpse could be found at the scene. There was not even a severed limb.

Something happened to Detective Stanton? Klein abruptly took a step back, intending to leave this place first.

Yet almost at the same time, he felt himself being locked onto.

Someone, hidden in an unknown place, was watching him with cold and merciless eyes.

The moment he responded incorrectly, he would immediately suffer a fatal attack.

What kind of suitable date for visiting Isengard Stanton is this? Did I misinterpret the revelation? Klein did not dare move recklessly.

But he was not too nervous or flustered. Having already experienced many battles and “performances,” he knew that the most important thing at a time like this was calm.

Tap, tap, tap. Isengard Stanton’s assistant came over carrying a tray.

On the tray were a tin teapot and two white-glazed porcelain cups.

The assistant froze at the sight inside the sitting room.

He looked at Klein, his expression suddenly filling with terror. Word by word, he said,

“You… killed… Mr. Stanton…”

With each word he uttered, a piece of flesh fell from his face, fresh blood streaming.

By the time he finished speaking, he split apart with a swish, turning into a pile of dismembered flesh, as though he had always been in that state and had merely been sewn together moments ago.

Clang! Crack! The tin pot and white porcelain cups fell at the same time, rolling or shattering, while black tea swiftly soaked the nearby area.

Klein did not move. He simply watched all of it happen, because he still felt himself being watched.

The one who had created all this seemed to be waiting for him to act, ready to pounce from behind and bite through his neck.

After an unknown length of time, amid a silent and eerie stalemate, Klein saw the front door of Isengard Stanton’s house open. A group of police officers in black-and-white checkered uniforms rushed inside.

They discovered the disgusting, horrifying dismembered corpse on the floor and immediately drew their revolvers, aiming them all at Klein, who stood at the sitting room door.

Faced with one dark muzzle after another, Klein instead relaxed.

At that instant, the wordless gaze that had seemed like a gun pressed against the back of his head vanished!

Klein raised both hands and smiled helplessly.

“I won’t say anything until I see my lawyer.”

…

Backlund Police Department, Hissak Division.

Handcuffed to a water pipe, Klein once again saw Lawyer Jurgen.

“I will accompany you during the interrogation,” Jurgen said with an expression that showed no abnormality at all, as though Detective Moriarty belonged in places like this.

Klein sighed.

“This really is a tragedy. At this hour, I should be thinking about what to eat for dinner, not chatting with grim-faced officers.”

The thing he was most grateful for that day was that, because of the Aurora Order’s investigation and the attention of the Rose School of Thought’s high-sequence powerhouse, he had carried no Beyonder items at all. His only revolver had also been easily hidden from the body search through a “magical” performance.

After entering the interrogation room, he did not wait for the officer to ask. He truthfully described receiving Isengard Stanton’s letter and arriving as agreed to discuss a case.

“Later, Lawyer Jurgen and we will go to your home to retrieve these letters. I hope they are still there.” The officer in charge of the interrogation changed the subject and asked, “How did you and Detective Isengard Stanton come to know each other?”

Klein answered without hesitation.

“Because of the previous serial murder case…”

At that point, he suddenly froze.

He remembered something: he had always suspected that the demon dog had an owner behind it. At the scene where the demon dog had been killed, someone had once let out a cold snort.

That’s right. The book Detective Stanton was reading before the attack was Demon Legends of the Sivellaus Region… Could it be that after lying low for a while, the owner of the demon dog has begun taking revenge? And in the police records, Detective Stanton was the one who provided the main clue—or rather, the main idea—and received the bounty! Klein swiftly formed a guess.