Chapter 26: 26. Chapter 26: Practice

Chapter 26: Practice

Tap, tap, tap.

Footsteps echoed within the dim, narrow corridor, spreading from a distance through the silence until no other noise remained.

Klein kept his back straight, following the middle-aged priest at a steady pace. He asked no questions and engaged in no small talk, remaining as calm as a windless lake.

After passing through a heavily guarded passage, the middle-aged priest used a key to open a secret door and pointed toward the stone steps leading downward.

"To the left of the crossroads is the Chanis Gate."

"May the Goddess protect you." Klein tapped his chest four times, tracing the "shape" of the Crimson Moon.

The secular used secular etiquette; the religious used religious rituals.

"Praise the Goddess," the middle-aged priest replied with the same gesture.

Klein said no more. Following the stone steps, aided by the elegant gas lamps embedded in the walls on both sides, he descended step by step into the depths of the darkness.

Halfway down, he instinctively looked back. He saw that the middle-aged priest was still standing at the entrance, at the top of the stairs, shrouded in the shadows of the gaslight, like an immobile wax statue.

Klein withdrew his gaze and continued his descent. Before long, his feet touched the cold stone floor, and he walked all the way to the crossroads.

He did not turn toward the direction of the "Chanis Gate," because Dunn Smith, who had just finished his shift, certainly wouldn't be there.

Following the familiar path to the right, Klein ascended another set of stairs and emerged inside the "Blackthorn Security Company."

Seeing that the doors were either tightly shut or half-ajar, he did not search recklessly. Instead, he entered the reception hall and saw a brown-haired girl with a sweet smile intently reading a magazine.

"Hi, Roselle." Klein approached from the side and deliberately tapped the table.

Clatter!

Roselle stood up abruptly, knocking over her chair, and said in a fluster

"Hi! The weather is nice today... You, you, Klein, what are you doing here?"

She pressed a hand to her chest and gasped for breath, looking like a little girl afraid of being caught idling by her father.

"I have something to discuss with the Captain," Klein answered briefly.

"...You scared me to death. I thought the Captain had come out." Roselle glared at Klein. "You didn't even knock! Hmph, you should be glad I am a generous and merciful lady—um, I prefer the word 'girl'... What do you need the Captain for? He's in the room opposite Mrs. Orianna."

Even with his nerves quite taut, Klein couldn't help but smile at Roselle. After a moment of thought, he said

"It's a secret."

"..." Roselle's eyes widened in disbelief. Meanwhile, Klein gave a slight bow and took his leave quickly.

He passed through the partition door of the reception room and knocked on the first office on his right.

"Come in," Dunn Smith's deep, gentle voice rang out.

Klein pushed the door open, closed it behind him, and removed his hat in a salute.

"Good morning, Captain."

"Good morning. Is something the matter?" Dunn's black trench coat and hat were hanging on the coat rack nearby. His exposed body wore only a white shirt and a black vest. Even with a high hairline and deep gray eyes, he looked much more refreshed.

"Someone is following me," Klein answered truthfully, without unnecessary embellishment.

Dunn leaned back and clasped his hands, his profound gray eyes quietly looking into Klein's.

He did not address the topic of being followed; instead, he asked

"Did you come from the church?"

"Yes," Klein answered affirmatively.

Dunn nodded slightly, neither confirming nor denying the gravity of it, and returned to the main topic

"It might be Welch's father. He may not believe the cause of death we reported and has hired a private detective from Wind City to investigate."

Conston, in the Sea of Lakes County, was also known as Wind City. It was an area where the coal and steel industries were extremely developed, ranking among the top three of all cities in the Loen Kingdom.

Before Klein could offer an opinion, Dunn continued

"It could also stem from the source of that notebook. Heh, we are currently investigating where Welch obtained the Antigonus family notebook. Of course, we cannot rule out other individuals or organizations pursuing this notebook."

"What should I do?" Klein asked in a low voice.

Undoubtedly, he hoped it was the former reason.

Dunn did not answer immediately. He took a sip of coffee, his gray eyes showing not a hint of ripple.

"Return the way you came, and then do whatever you wish to do."

"Whatever?" Klein asked back.

"Whatever," Dunn nodded firmly. "Of course, do not scare the other party away, and do not break the law."

"Alright." Klein took a breath, bid him farewell, and turned to leave the room, returning to the underground level.

He turned left at the crossroads and walked quietly through the empty, dim, and cold passage, bathed in the light of the gas lamps spaced along both sides.

The overlapping echoes of his footsteps made the solitude feel more profound and the fear more intense.

Soon, Klein approached the stairs and climbed up step by step, seeing the middle-aged priest standing in the shadows at the entrance once again.

When they met, neither spoke. The middle-aged priest turned away in silence, clearing the path.

Proceeding silently, Klein returned to the Great Prayer Hall. The pure light from the circular holes behind the arched altar remained the same, as did the dim tranquility of the room. The gentlemen and ladies queuing outside the confessionals were still there, though there were far fewer of them.

After waiting for a while, Klein took his cane and a newspaper and, as if nothing had happened, slowly left the Great Prayer Hall and the Church of Saint Selena.

The moment he stepped outside and saw the bright sun, he immediately felt that familiar sensation of being watched, as if he were prey being stared at by an eagle.

Suddenly, a doubt surfaced in his mind

"Why didn't the 'Watcher' follow me into the church before? Although I could have used the dark environment and the priest's help to briefly 'disappear,' would it have been difficult for him to pretend to pray and follow me? I haven't done anything wrong; what's the problem with entering openly?"

Unless he had a dark history, feared the Church, dreaded the Bishop, or knew that the other party might possess Beyonder abilities...

Looking at it this way, the possibility of a private detective was extremely low...

*Whew!* Klein exhaled, no longer as tense as before. He strolled leisurely toward the Zotlan Street at the rear.

He stopped in front of an old-style building with mottled walls. The house number was "3," and the name was "Zotlan Shooting Club."

A portion of the police department's underground shooting range was open to the "public" to earn extra funds.

As soon as Klein entered, the feeling of being watched vanished. He seized the opportunity to present his "Special Operations Department" badge to the receptionist.

After a brief verification, he was led underground to a small, enclosed shooting range.

"10-meter target," Klein instructed the attendant simply. He pulled his revolver from his underarm holster and took out the box of brass-colored bullets from his pocket.

Being suddenly targeted had allowed his desire for self-preservation to triumph over his procrastination, making him eager to practice his marksmanship.

*Snap!*

After the attendant left, he swung out the cylinder, ejecting the silver demon-hunting bullets one by one. Then, he picked up the normal brass-colored bullets and loaded them into the chambers one by one.

This time, he did not leave an empty chamber for safety, nor did he take off his formal jacket or remove his half-top hat. He intended to practice in his most ordinary attire; after all, it was impossible to shout, "Please wait a moment while I change into something more convenient," upon encountering an enemy or danger.

*Click!*

Klein closed the cylinder and flicked it with his thumb.

Suddenly, he gripped the gun with both hands, snapped it upright, and aimed at the target ten meters away.

But he did not rush to shoot. Instead, he carefully recalled his experiences of missing targets during military training, as well as common knowledge like the "three points in a line" and the recoil of a shot.

*Swish! Swish!*

Amidst the rustling of his clothes, Klein practiced aiming and his grip posture over and over again, as serious as a student preparing for the college entrance exams.

After repeated attempts, he retreated to the wall, sat on a soft long bench, set the revolver aside, and massaged his arms, resting for quite a while.

After spending a few minutes reflecting on what had just happened, Klein picked up the wooden-gripped, brass-cylinder pistol again, stepped to the shooting position, assumed a standard posture, and pulled the trigger.

*Bang!*

His arm jerked, his body recoiled slightly, and the bullet missed the target.

*Bang! Bang! Bang!*

Drawing from his experience, he shot one by one, feeling out the sensation through practice, until all six bullets were spent.

*Starting to hit the target...* Klein retreated and sat down again, panting slightly.

*Snap!* He swung out the cylinder, letting the six shell casings clatter to the floor, then continued to load the remaining brass bullets one by one with an unchanged expression.

After relaxing his arms with some movement, Klein stood up again, summarizing his findings as he returned to the shooting position.

*Bang! Bang! Bang!*

Gunshots echoed and the target swayed. Klein practiced time and again, resting time and again, until he had exhausted the thirty normal bullets he had received and the five remaining from before. His accuracy gradually stabilized, and he began to aim for higher scores.

Shaking his aching arms, he emptied the last five shell casings, lowered his head, and loaded the silver demon-hunting bullets with their complex patterns one by one, leaving an empty chamber for safety.

After returning the revolver to his underarm holster, Klein brushed the gunpowder dust off his clothes and walked out of the private range and back onto the street with a sense of relief.

The feeling of being scrutinized surfaced once more, but Klein's mood was even calmer than before. He walked slowly to Champagne Street, spent 4 pence on a tram to return to the Iron Cross Street, and entered his apartment.

The sensation of being watched vanished silently. He took out his keys, opened the door, and saw a man nearing thirty, wearing a linen shirt and sporting very short hair, sitting at a desk.

His heart tightened momentarily before relaxing. Klein greeted him with a smile

"Good morning—no, good afternoon, Benson."

This man was his and Melissa's elder brother, Benson Moretti. He was only 25 this year, but due to a receding hairline and a mature face, he looked nearly 30.

He had black hair and brown eyes, bearing some resemblance to Klein, though he lacked that faint scholarly air.

"Good afternoon, Klein. How was the interview?" Benson stood up, a smile appearing at the corners of his mouth.

His black coat and half-top hat were hanging on the protrusion of the bunk bed.

"Very bad," Klein answered expressionlessly.

Seeing Benson freeze, Klein added with a light chuckle

"In fact, I didn't even attend the interview. I found a job in advance. The weekly wage is 3 pounds..."

He repeated the words he had previously told Melissa.

Benson's expression softened, and he shook his head with a smile.

"It feels like watching a child grow up... Hmm, this job sounds quite good."

He sighed and said

"Coming home from a trip to hear such good news is truly wonderful. We should celebrate tonight. Should we buy some beef?"

Klein smiled.

"Sure, but I think Melissa will be heartbroken about the cost. Shall we go buy the ingredients together this afternoon? We should bring at least 3 shillings? Er, to be honest, 1 pound for 20 shillings, 1 shilling for 12 pence, plus halfpennies and quarterpennies... such a currency system is completely counter-intuitive and extremely troublesome. I think it must be one of the stupidest currency systems in the world."

As he finished speaking, he saw Benson's expression suddenly turn serious, and he felt a bit apprehensive, wondering if he had said something wrong.

In the missing memory fragments of the original owner, was Benson a pure, extreme supporter of the Kingdom who couldn't tolerate even a hint of negation?

Benson paced a few steps and countered with a serious face

"No. Not even close."

*Not even close...* Klein was stunned for a moment, then quickly realized the joke and shared a smile with his brother.

As expected, it was Benson's specialty: sarcastic humor.

With the corners of his mouth turned up, Benson added solemnly

"You should understand that creating a reasonable and simple currency system requires a prerequisite: knowing how to count and mastering the decimal system. Unfortunately, among those great figures, such talents are far too rare."