After finishing the Tarot session yesterday, Klein took an hour's rest to restore his spirituality. He had already bought all the necessities for life at the market in the Backlund Bridge area, made up for the missing facilities in the apartment, and even paid for it.
A huge sum of twelve pounds.
"We must generate revenue today."
At eight o'clock in the morning, Klein listened to the sounds of tenant activities nearby, put on a black double-breasted coat that matched his personality, picked up his cane, mixed in with the tenants coming downstairs, and left the apartment.
He did not choose to make breakfast in the apartment. Instead, after walking out of the apartment door, he directly boarded the public carriage leading to the border of the East District. He sat on it until the end and then casually dealt with it among the nearby vendors.
The time we entered the East District this time was similar to the last time, but it was much more lively, and workers could be seen coming and going everywhere.
Because it is close to the border of the East District, although the residents here are very old-fashioned, they can still be regarded as decent residents of the East District. They are much better than those poor workers who are really poorly clothed. At least they will not be forced to die by hunger and poverty at any time.
Become a beast.
Without any further hesitation, Klein protected the valuables in the outer pocket of his coat with his left hand and walked quickly into the depths of the East District. Following the route he took last time, he went directly to the bar where bounty hunters gathered.
As Klein stepped in, the dust at the door was once again kicked up, slowly swirling and flying in the air under the sunlight.
It's still morning, but the place is filled with the overwhelming smell of alcohol. Bounty hunters squatting on various barstools or in corners, almost everyone is holding a wooden barrel cup, either tasting or just holding various drinks.
Various spirits.
Klein, who was dressed decently and attracted a lot of people's attention, faced the expectant gazes from around him and faced the bartender who was looking at Xun Sheng. He placed a few coins on the bar in a natural movement and said in a low voice:
"A Southwell beer."
The bartender, whose hands were empty this time and who wasn't reading a low-quality book, glanced at him, muttered, collected the coins, and poured a beer.
"You came at the right time. Most of the people here are eyeing the same job as you. With this kind of clothes, many people just thought you were the client of the Zigman Party."
"Why do you think I'm not?" Klein's deep ice-blue eyes swept away and took the beer handed by the bartender.
"Haha, because those agents or members of the gang will never order drinks here as long as they come to entrust a task. This is the rule." The bartender behind the bar grinned maliciously, his chapped lips stretched.
Very open.
Don’t know how to order wine?
Klein, who was puzzled by this, did not delve into it further. Instead, he silently picked up his beer and blended into a corner where the crowd was not dense, trying to hide his figure.
His nose moved and his expression was slightly distorted, but he still shrank his body, honestly gave up the empty stool, and squatted with several thinner-looking men next to him, with his black double-breasted coat dragging on the ground.
About ten minutes later, just when Klein's legs were starting to feel numb, several tall men wearing heavy windbreakers, carrying black suitcases in their hands, unabashedly walked into this very cramped room.
s Bar.
After clearly seeing the features on several people's faces, and seeing clearly the more sunken eye sockets and more prominent cheekbones like a trademark, the bartender behind the bar immediately came forward to greet them, holding a wooden board and paper under his arm.
"Mr. Meursault, what do you want to entrust this time?" The medium-sized bartender looked like a stunted child in front of the tall plateau people. He was slightly hunched over, and the pen in his hand was already pointed on the wooden board.
, always ready to record.
If it were an ordinary gang member, as a tavern in a neutral zone where tasks are issued, there would be no need to be so attentive. However, this time the Zigman Party seems to attach great importance to this operation, and even directly sent Meursault as the "executor" to personally
came to entrust the task, which made the bartender on duty a little panicked.
This dark, lean man with sharp beast-like eyes glanced around the bounty hunters gathered in the bar, shook his head unsatisfied, and said in a slow and hoarse voice:
"I need someone who is good at tracking and hunting."
"We need a few people who can shoot more accurately, be good at fighting, and be ready to participate in knife fights."
"That's right." The fierce "executor" seemed to have thought of something interesting. He gave a stiff smile with a twinkling light in his eyes, "It's best to have someone with a good heart who won't be taken lightly.
Scared to death."
Although the last request didn't seem to be closely related to the previous ones, the bartender still recorded it on the board very seriously. He didn't nod slightly until the last character was written.
Meursault glanced at the paper handed over by the bartender, and after feeling that there was no big problem, he swiped his finger and returned it to the bartender.
He watched the other party move a chair and put the paper on the wooden board on the empty wall on the left side of the bar, with a slight smile on his lips.
There are various colored papers stuck everywhere on it, most of them have been marked. Only a few very old ones are still empty, and the one that the bartender just pasted with his own hands is neatly pasted in the middle, suppressing it.
Other commissions.
After doing all this, the members of the Zigman Party did not leave in a hurry. Instead, they pulled away a few bounty hunters who were sitting on high chairs, took the beer from the bartender, and gathered around the bar.
Started drinking.
Is this to see if anyone comes forward to recruit on-site?
Mixed in the crowd, Klein, who had met one of these men in black, still kept squatting and quietly turned on his spiritual vision to examine these fierce-looking characters.
In fact, after these people walked into the bar just now, Klein recognized one of them. It was the plateau man who chased the little boy and led his men to forcefully break into the subway station that day.
But what attracted Klein's attention the most was the leader, a gangster who seemed to have a high status.
The man known as "Mr. Meursault" showed decisiveness in every move he made. In terms of combat ability alone, he seemed to be better than Klein, who had received professional knight training, and even better than the "Joker" now.
Klein is particularly good at close combat.
As Klein raised his teeth, the world in front of him instantly became abstract and divided by various colors.
Through the observation and examination of things in front of us through spiritual vision, especially the spiritual bodies, the figures of a few extraordinary people in the bar were nowhere to be seen.
According to Klein's judgment, which he had trained in the Nighthawks team, these Beyonders are almost all Sequence Nine, and the existence of Sequence Eight has not been discovered.
Of course, it may also be that the opponent's Sequence Eight is good at disguising itself, making it impossible for Klein to discover it through such simple observation.
Among these extraordinary people who have been exposed, the most obvious one is the leader of several members of the Zigman Party, Meursault, who is as dangerous as a beast.
His spirit body glowed with a bloody glimmer, like the concentration of gunfire and gunpowder smoke, giving people an intuitive sense of violence.
Suddenly, Mr. Meursault, who was sitting in the middle of the bar, seemed to feel something and subconsciously cast his gaze in the direction of Klein, his brown-red eyes like sharp swords.
Klein, who sensed the danger in advance, quickly turned off his spiritual vision and used the expression control of the "Joker" to dodge appropriately, using alcohol to hide his fear like the people around him.
Meursault didn't find anyone worthy of his attention. He relaxed his movements slightly, pressed the wooden cup to his lips, and his thoughts gradually dispersed.
"I don't know why Mr. Ambassador asked me to hire these bastards from the East District. How can they compare to the brothers from the plateau?"
"But Mr. Rosago is right. Even a gangster needs a certain amount of knowledge. We plateau people always suffer from this disadvantage."
"I really don't know how Mr. Rosago has such rich experience, especially what he said before. Hunters are not limited to wilderness and plateaus, but also exist in cities. Human society is the biggest hunting ground."
"Sooner or later, the trap woven by conspiracy and trickery will be better than the steel trap. The power of words is sometimes more important than artillery... I always feel that Mr. Rosago is sometimes more like a 'hunter' than me. He
He is truly a cautious and knowledgeable person.”
Da da da.
Some frivolous footsteps interrupted Meursault's thinking, causing his eyes to sweep forward.
A young woman holding a worn-out doll wandered over. Her face was pale, and the edges of her eye circles were thickly black, as if she might collapse at any time due to anemia and overwork.
"How much do you pay?" This strange woman said in an ethereal voice, ignoring the man next to her who was about to get up, her brown eyes resting on Meursault's belly.
"Hey!" the man who was about to stand up yelled. As soon as he put down the wooden bucket cup in his hand, his body felt an inexplicable pulling force. His feet and buttocks seemed to be grabbed by someone, and they were stuck to the floor.
In the shadow of the high chair, the disgusting sound of chewing echoed in my ears.
Meursault, who didn't pay much attention at first and was admiring the woman's haggard but very delicate face, concentrated his energy, tapped the center of his eyebrows, and activated his spiritual vision.
From his perspective, the woman in front of him looked like the dirty goods sold in the East District and could die at any time. There was a layer of dirty black clinging to her spiritual body. Just one glance made Meursault...
My eyes stung a little, which was unbearable.
He hurriedly turned off his spiritual vision, tensed his body, subconsciously touched the revolver in his belt, and answered quickly:
"Three pounds a week, and if we get what we want, there will be other rewards."
"Really, three pounds is enough for me to eat for a long time." The pale-faced woman hugged the puppet in her arms tightly, licked her white lips with a bright red tongue, and her pupils shrank, "My name is Helen, and I listen to you now.
Already."
Phew... The pressure on his body suddenly disappeared. Meursault first glanced at his companion who had regained his freedom, then removed his right hand from his belt, put down his wine glass and stood up.
He whispered something to the subordinate behind him, pressed a banknote on the bar, and respectfully asked the scary woman who called herself Helen to walk out of the tavern with him, no longer expecting anyone to come forward.
For a moment, the originally quiet bar became noisy again.
My feet are already numb... Klein, who was hiding in the corner, supported the legs of the high chair beside him and slowly pulled himself up from the ground.
"That woman just now has no intention of reining in her spirituality. Her spiritual body gave me a sense of familiarity."
"Is she a believer in the true Creator, or an extraordinary person on the 'Hanged Man' path?"
"From an intuitive perspective, she should be a Sequence Seven, similar to the captain."
Sherlock Moriarty, who has a relatively old face and deep ice blue eyes, now has fine wrinkles on his face stacked together like intertwined spider webs.
He was a little worried about what kind of disaster would happen in Backlund after an Extraordinary person who was obviously in bad condition and was like a time bomb joined a violent gang.
Although there will be official Extraordinary people responsible for dealing with it, Backlund's huge population also means that it is impossible for official Extraordinary people to pay attention to every place. At best, they can make remedial measures after the incident.
Thinking about the news related to the Zigman Party, he silently raised his hands and rubbed his sore face to fight against the negligible negative effects of this magical item on his face.
Although the item that looks like human skin does not contain real extraordinary properties, so the negative effects are not obvious, but if worn for a long time, it will still affect the user's facial muscles, making them unnaturally stiff and stiff.
Soreness, if worn for too long, may even cause short-term facial paralysis.
"That woman just now gave me a feeling like Miss Delcha." Just as Klein was flexing his facial muscles, a middle-aged man next to him suddenly muttered to his acquaintance.
"Miss Dilcha? You mean the famous 'arbiter'?"
"How could it be? That woman doesn't have that intimidating sense of majesty." The man in a worker's uniform looked puzzled and retorted subconsciously.
Upon hearing his friend's rebuttal, the man who started the conversation suddenly paused and then said in frustration:
"I can't tell, it's just that feeling of being unable to resist..."
"arbitrator"?
Klein, who had been paying attention to his side, suddenly changed his mind and guessed the true identity of Miss Dilcha mentioned by the person around him just now.
"I remember that the 'arbitrator' path is controlled by the royal family, is it a plainclothes member of 'MI9', or is it a simple wild extraordinary person?"
Suddenly, Klein, who was thinking, turned his head and looked invisibly in the direction where his spiritual intuition was touched.
I saw a thin young man wearing a round felt hat and wrapped in a shabby coat walking quickly into the bar at the previously unoccupied door and heading straight for the bar.
He observed the crowd around him with great vigilance, his bright red eyes turning rapidly and his movements sophisticated.
"That boy from that day?" Klein barely thought about it before he recognized the boy who lent his body to hide behind his back that day. Later, he came to express his gratitude and was hunted down by members of the Zigman Party.
However, because he was mixed in with the crowd, and the light in the bar was not good, Ian did not directly notice his presence. Instead, he paid a certain commission to the bartender very familiarly, and then turned his back directly towards him.
The bounty hunters in the bar shouted in a low voice:
"Is there anyone who is good at anti-tracking, fighting and firearms?"