Klein put away the note in his palm, rubbed it with his fingers, and was ignited by the spiritual flame. The still-warm ashes fell into the half-glass of South Wales beer left, popping the white foam floating on the surface.
"I want to find Caspars." Klein looked at the strong man fighting shirtless in the ring in the distance and nodded lightly in front of the bartender.
The sloppily polished glass reflected the distorted reflection of the bartender. His body swayed, and he looked like he was drunk. He swung his arms out and pointed in a random direction.
"In the same place."
The fight on the ring has ended, the winner is waving his arms, and the Suler denomination banknotes are spread all over the edge of the simple ring, stuck with sweat.
Klein took a slow breath, stood up, and walked to the room next to the bar's back kitchen.
He was not looking for Caspars.
It is now Friday, five o'clock Backlund time, which is also the construction time he made an appointment with Miller Carter through a letter.
Passing through the greasy-smelling corridor, Klein gently knocked on the closed wooden door, silently counted in his mind, and took two steps back.
Squeak.
The unreliable wooden door fell back lightly, and a gloomy man wearing dark blue work clothes with an ashen face opened the door, his eyes slightly chaotic.
His unfocused gaze rested on Klein's chest. After scanning it a few times, he snorted before getting out of the way.
Maric, who had a mixture of madness and reason in his eyes, was still sitting in the seat at the far end of the room, but this time the party table was no longer surrounded by living corpses.
In front of the wall on the right side of the room, corpses wearing uniforms of workers were lined up like sculptures, standing behind Kaspars, who had a slightly uneasy face.
Before Klein could say hello, the air on the left side of the room was filled with blur, and her figure was hazy. It was not like the real Sharon's figure drawn out of nothingness, and the color was light.
"Already prepared."
Klein, who closed the door behind his back, nodded slightly, then his thoughts changed and he said in a calm voice:
"Where are the explosives we need?"
With a cold expression, Sharon turned her head slightly and looked in the direction of Kaspars.
The sudden look made the old man, who had obviously seen the wind and waves, shudder. He bit his lip and answered Sharon's question in a low tone.
"There are two pounds in total. They were all put in the box. They went through the regular channels."
As he spoke, he pointed to a living corpse behind him carrying a wooden box.
He didn't know why with just one hire, Sherlock Moriarty, who seemed to have many secrets, established such a close relationship with the supporters behind him.
He had never seen Miss Sharon show her true face in front of others before.
Two pounds, is this the judgment of the blasting expert?
It seems that Miss Sharon and Maric did not tell Kaspers why they prepared explosives... Klein nodded clearly and added kindly:
"We're just going to help someone renovate a basement."
Kaspars was stunned for a moment, his red nose and the scar that occupied most of his face were obviously twitching. He looked at Maric asking for help, but the latter still looked like he was suppressing something.
He just raised his arm and waved outward, silently.
Sharon, who was floating aside, watched Kaspars walk out of the room with relief, slowly turned back, and spoke in an ethereal voice.
"Maric will never come here again."
"Then how should I contact him in the future?" Klein looked in Sharon's direction without much thought.
He looked into those jewel-like pure blue eyes and added after consideration:
"I think there will be times when we need to cooperate in the future."
Maric, who was sitting behind the card table, frowned rarely, with obvious doubts in his eyes.
Sharon's body dropped and she sat on a high stool. After a few seconds, she briefly explained.
"After this operation, it may attract attention."
"Contact via Caspars Relay."
Attract attention?
That's right, "exotic" is originally an extraordinary path mastered by the cult organizations in the southern continent. It is not common in the entire northern continent, and it is indeed easy for official extraordinary people to take it more seriously.
However, Miss Sharon and Maric do not look like members of the "Rose School" described in the Nighthawks' internal documents. If they are just hiding in a bar with a gray background, they should not alert the official Beyonders. They are worried about others.
power?
Klein nodded suddenly and didn't ask any more questions.
"OK."
As he spoke, he dragged a stool over and took out his pocket watch from his coat and took a glance at it.
"There's less than an hour left, shall we go there now?"
Sharon, who was sitting on a high stool with an indifferent expression, did not respond. Instead, she still looked at Klein and reminded him succinctly:
"After the place was blown up, I was the only one who could enter."
Klein, who had just taken back his pocket watch, was startled for a moment, then a smile appeared on his lips and he shook his head.
"It does not matter."
Anyway, he can also take advantage of the special characteristics of the gray mist and come directly as a spirit body. This is no different from the "revengeful soul".
He tapped the table as a habit, his fingers pressing on the cards scattered on the table.
"I think there may be more than one entrance."
Seeing Sharon and Maric's restrained curiosity, Klein's lips curled up even more, and his tone was brisk.
"I found the previous director of that house, Rafter Pound, a shabby baronet."
"Of course, I used some means to get in touch with him and asked about some of the secrets behind the underground ruins."
Klein played with the cards and chips on the table, erased the remaining speculations about high-level existences such as Medici and Tudor, and shared them with his partners in detail.
"Anyway, after I relaxed my control on Pound, he shouted for help, which attracted many people watching nearby."
"He didn't lie about this. There are many people who are very concerned about him and that house, and they even don't hesitate to set up secret sentries and plant undercover agents around him."
"'Hunter'..." Sharon, who was sitting on a high stool, murmured softly, her palms unconsciously touching her cheeks.
Although she had made some guesses, she still had not determined which sequence the ghost in the underground ruins was in.
After all, there is not only one sequence that can control flames, many spiritual creatures also have similar abilities.
The room fell into silence for a moment. Klein looked at her thinking, took out his pocket watch again, took a look at it, waited for a minute, and then interrupted softly:
"It's almost time."
Sharon, who was thinking seriously just a second ago, instantly returned to her usual state. Her body floated up and she left the high stool. The emotions that had finally flowed out of her blue eyes disappeared in an instant.
She nodded slightly, and her hazy and illusory figure became thinner and thinner, and she took the initiative to throw herself into a corpse standing by the wall.
The living corpse wearing a dark blue uniform shook his head slightly, his eyeballs were still cloudy, but there was already a touch of agility.
He led the front out of the room, and the remaining living corpses lined up behind him.
Klein sat back on the seat next to the card table, gently rubbed his cheeks, and slowly stood up.
If I saw it right just now, that corpse should be the prettiest among all the living corpses?
He pushed up his glasses, turned his head and looked back thoughtfully, and shook his head at Maric, who looked confused.
............
"This is six soles, for all of you." Williams leaned against the door frame of his rental house, holding banknotes in his hand, waving to a few workers with submissive expressions outside the door, and loosened his fingers.
With a crash, banknotes were scattered, and several figures quickly squatted down, scrambling to pick up the loose change scattered on the ground.
The leader of the workers seemed to want to strive for more pay, but after looking at Williams' strong body and the facial features twisting together, he only hesitated for a moment, then immediately squatted down and joined in the plan of collecting change.
Williams, who was leaning against the door frame, silently lit a cigarette, rolled his eyes upwards, and slammed the door shut, causing the wind to blow banknotes flying.
He didn't care how the people outside divided the money, since they were not his beggars.
He has always had this attitude towards these half-experienced workers who are unwilling to muster up the courage to join a gang but still want to make extra money from time to time.
"A bunch of people with no bottom line." He was about to grab the beer on the table and looked up, but his movement suddenly stopped.
Between the half-open windows, a figure wearing a pure black half-length coat was standing there, his face blurred.
He suddenly felt that the room was getting darker.
"We can sit down and talk." The figure had a mellow voice and did not seem to mean to attack him.
Williams, who was in his prime, instinctively questioned as usual, but the rising fear in his heart finally broke his defense.
The burly young man put down the beer in his hand, moved to the table little by little, lifted up the chair and sat down.
He glanced out the window subconsciously, seeing a heavy thunderstorm.
The figure with a blurred face had reached the opposite side of him at some point.
This gentleman, who didn't look like he was from the East End, touched his forehead habitually. His voice was still mellow, like a requiem in the night, which could soothe a trembling soul.
"I want to know why you asked someone to report that there are cultists in the dock union,"
Sure enough they knew it!
Williams, who was very experienced in this matter, subconsciously told the truth, but the petite figure with blond hair suddenly flashed through his mind, and he couldn't help but see Xio's childish face in his mind.
Williams felt his throat dry and swallowed hard, his voice hoarse than he expected.
"The bar, the commission in the bounty hunter bar, I am only responsible for delivering the news."
"Really?" The man across the table was surprisingly talkative and nodded.
He raised his face, whose face was blurry and could barely be seen at the hairline, and looked deeply at Williams with a gentle smile.
The thicker darkness spread silently in the room. Williams stood up in a panic, only to find that he was standing next to the door frame. The voices of the workers arguing could still be heard through the wooden door.
Am I asleep?
He subconsciously looked at the window. There was no thunderstorm. The window was closed!
Williams, who had almost burned out the cigarette butt in his hand, shook his head, his steps a little frivolous.
"As expected, I have been under a lot of pressure recently. I have to tell Hugh next time that I can no longer do church-related work..."
At this time, the noise outside the house finally stopped, and in the corridor of the stairs, a gentleman wearing a maroon coat pushed up his glasses.