After breakfast, Klein monitored the area around his rented apartment in the Backlund Bridge area for a while and confirmed that there were no suspicious people wandering around. He decided to wait a few more days before returning to his beloved apartment.
Although this was a waste of rent, he still believed it was a necessary decision compared to his own safety and that of Ian.
In the evening, it began to rain continuously in Backlund, where the weather was changeable. It cast a different kind of haze over the capital of Mandu, where sunshine was already hard to see.
When the workers were leaving get off work, Klein and Ian, who had finished dinner near the East District, returned to the small brick-red building where they rented temporarily. After observing the hotel for a while, they found that no one was standing guard, and then they walked into the door.
The dark and dirty hall was still the same as when they left in the morning. The short and fat boss was flipping through vulgar magazines boredly. He was filled with alcohol. The cloudy eyes on his reddish face glanced at Klein and Ian with dull eyes.
It stayed for two seconds, and then slowly turned back to the vulgar magazine with poor printing quality and colorful colors.
At this time, there was only one worker in a gray-white uniform in the hotel lobby, who was picking newspapers from the newspaper rack in the lobby. Klein's vision, blessed by his spiritual vision, glanced around. When he found nothing unusual, he and the man next to him looked older than before.
Ian, who was more energetic by the day, nodded and walked back to their respective rooms in silence.
Dong dong dong dong…
The muffled sound of going upstairs gradually faded away, and the hotel owner who had been listless finally cheered up, put down the vulgar magazine in his hand, and snorted at the man who was picking newspapers in the lobby.
"Berlauer, would you like to take on a job?"
"What?" Brauer, who was not interested and kept flipping through expired newspapers, smacked his lips and replied without raising his head.
In order not to expose his secret, the boss who really drank some wine burped, his mouth opened wide, and his voice sounded like he was covered in a quilt.
"Go and send a message to the Zigman party, saying that the person Mr. Meursault wants is back. I will give you 10 soles and the room fee for next week will be waived."
The newspaper in his hand was crumpled, and the man who exuded a negative aura raised his head. Thick black circles surrounded his brown eyes, and the corners of his dry mouth were slightly white.
"Those two people just now?"
"Is there another child? Did they steal something from the Zigman Party?"
"Why do you ask so many questions?" The hotel owner reached under the table and fumbled out a bag of tea leaves. His stubby fingers kept stroking the tea leaves wrapped in oil paper, and he said almost without moving the corner of his mouth, "Anyway,
Just take it if you have money, I don’t know why.”
"Aren't you short of money recently?"
Berauer reluctantly clicked his tongue, looked deeply at the boss sitting behind the front desk, turned around and walked out of the hotel.
............
In the middle of the night, Klein, who had already talked with Ian and had a general understanding of some of Backlund's forces, returned to his room.
He rubbed his face, which was hurt by the magical item, sore, and could barely raise the corners of his mouth. He worked hard on his apple muscles, took off the black plate glasses hanging on the bridge of his nose, and went straight to the simple bathroom in the room to prepare.
Comfortably solve the problem of lower abdominal bloating.
He directly opened the closed wooden door, and after happily solving his problem, he moved his body, rinsed his hands, and prepared to take off the human skin mask on his face.
Wow.
Klein took off the translucent mask that was only attached to his face. The muscles in his face twitched, and the freezing feeling gradually subsided.
He kept scooping up the water flowing from the brass faucet and slapped it hard on his face.
At this moment, a hazy picture suddenly appeared in Klein's mind, whose brain was already a little empty and his thoughts were almost dull.
In the dilapidated and incomplete bathroom vanity mirror, a pair of sharp and deep eyes were hiding in the darkness, staring at him indifferently.
Almost instinctively, Klein immediately followed the guidance of his spiritual intuition, dropped his knees, and using his left knee as the base point, quickly turned around and rushed towards the bathroom door!
It wasn't that he didn't want to choose another direction, but the bathroom in this hotel was too small and there was no room to hide. He could only take a gamble and rush forward directly in the direction where the assassin was standing.
Whoosh!
Under Klein's rolling collision, the assassin's small black-feathered arrow, which had been charged for a long time, shot out like lightning, covered with faint blue light. The bone arrowhead pierced directly into the ceiling above, almost inserted into the door frame and ceiling.
in the middle.
Buzz!
The assassin was knocked backwards. Klein, who had just found the right balance, did not hesitate. His flexible whip legs swept forward with a sound of breaking wind, and like a giant ax, he hit the assassin's calf hard.
.
But what was unpredictable was that the assassin who was knocked off balance and almost fell to the ground suddenly turned in the air and avoided Klein's counterattack. The dagger held in his right hand turned and pierced directly towards where he was standing.
position.
He wanted to pierce the dagger directly into Klein's thigh and take away his ability to move!
when!
With a muffled sound, the sharp and cold dagger plunged deeply into the oily wooden floor, leaving a winding mark and the wooden thorns flew away.
What a pity that the two attacks failed at the same time.
Klein, who fell to the ground, relied on the "Joker's" unique control over his body to jump up from the ground. After a pause, he tentatively reached into his pockets, trying to pull out a few cards he inherited from Detective Zerrell, which were stolen by Silver.
Tarot cards wrapped in a quality border.
Just when he was about to turn his wrist, attach spirituality to the Tarot cards in his hand, and throw them out with the blessing of "pulling paper into soldiers", he only felt a strong wind blowing against his face, and caught a cold wave reflecting the crimson moonlight from the corner of his eye.
The sharp edge of the sword grazed his unshielded cheek, leaving a bloody mark.
Why can't I feel my face?
Klein instinctively wanted to bar his teeth, but found that he could not move the muscles on his face that were rubbed, and could only twitch the corners of his eyes slightly.
In the blink of an eye, the assassin on the opposite side had adjusted his body shape, raised his knees, and the black figure quickly approached. A straight fist wrapped in strong wind struck, blocking Klein's retreat. Immediately, the black figure surpassed ordinary people.
She slid closer to him, tightening her instep and lifting it out like lightning.
Klein, who was holding the Tarot cards tightly in one hand and guarding against the attack with the other, had no time to resist, so he could only hold it horizontally in front of his chest and took the blow forcefully. His whole body was ejected like a kicked ball.
Boom!
Klein's body hit the thin wooden wall, causing a circle of cracks and almost breaking through the wall.
The loud noise woke up the passengers who were resting in the next room. Vulgar roars suddenly rang out. In the silence of the night, the sound of erratic movements of hands and feet and the sound of a violent slamming of the door were particularly obvious.
"Asshole, do you want to die?"
The man who lived next door and looked like a brown bear opened Klein's door, and the light of the gas lamp shone fiercely in.
The dim light swept away, and Klein took advantage of the perfect opportunity created by this neighbor to clearly see the assassin who suddenly arrived.
The “executioner” of the Zigman Party—Meursault!
He has dark skin, is lean and muscular, and has deep-set eye sockets. He is exactly the talker of the Zigman Party that Klein had seen in the Bounty Hunter Tavern when he was playing Sherlock Moriarty.
Shit! Meursault, who was hit by someone, cursed secretly. He glanced at Klein with sharp eyes and made a quick decision. He twisted his waist and slipped out a second dagger from his cuffs. He strode towards the man who turned from anger to anger.
Scared man.
Kick! Kick! Bang!
Meursault ran a few steps quickly, and in an instant he was close to the man who was still holding the gas lamp and standing stunned at the door. The dagger at the end of his left hand was raised from bottom to top.
"Ah!" It wasn't until the cold edge of the dagger was about to touch his skin that the man woke up from his sleep and screamed and shouted, trying to escape from the angry hunter.
The harsh and shrill roar of the broken sound made Meursault's ears ache. He couldn't help but glare fiercely in his eyes. Using his waist, he used his left hand to avoid the man's waving arm and inserted it straight into his neck.
With a pop, the swollen artery on the inner wall was penetrated. Meursault retracted the knife neatly, and a waterfall of bright red blood suddenly burst out from the knife mark on his neck, spraying all over the floor, splashing on the ceiling, and the floor was covered with goop.
Without enough time to taste the blood in the air, Meursault, who was in the midst of excitement, suddenly had a spiritual intuition and suddenly turned sideways and rolled backwards.
boom!
A bullet blasted through the floor where Meursault was standing just now. Judging from the trajectory, the bullet was undoubtedly aimed at his head!
Meursault, who had just rolled to distance himself and whose life was threatened, quickly turned his head and glared fiercely at Klein, who had already touched the revolver that had been casually thrown on the bed. He made a prompt decision and decided to fight in close combat.
After being promoted to hunter, Meursault has been able to obtain the optimal solution in battle with almost no thinking, based on the knowledge he gained from the "Hunter" characteristics and his spiritual intuition.
For example, now, in his field of vision, Klein's activities seemed to have been pressed on the slowdown button, broken down into actions that could reveal flaws.
In his "analysis", if he continued to fight at a distance, he would most likely be shot dead by the opponent.
Now he has determined that the bounty hunter named Sherlock Moriarty is also an Extraordinary, and his rank may be higher than his own. He belongs to the type of Extraordinary who is good at assisting as Mr. Rosago once mentioned.
.
But what kind of combat capabilities do auxiliary Extraordinaries have? In the steel jungle of Backlund, the "Hunters" are the real strong ones!
With this thought in mind, Meursault raised a cruel yet joyful smile on his lips, and like a cheetah hunting prey, without any shortcomings in all aspects, he swooped towards Klein.
At the same time, Klein, who had roughly grasped the opponent's behavioral habits, calmly raised the revolver. With the crisp sound of the wheel, the orange copper bullets and the blue tarot cards were shot out instantly, almost in unison!
Ps: After thinking about it, I finally made it up...