**Thump! Thump! Thump!**
Klein's heart began pounding intensely, contracting tightly before bursting with a force that made his body tremble. For a moment, he nearly forgot what he was supposed to do until he noticed the intruder's figure pause slightly, as if picking up on some change.
Blood drained back from his head, and Klein regained enough composure to reach under his pillow and grip the wooden handle of his revolver. The firm, smooth feel of it steadied him, and he slowly and silently drew out the gun, aiming it squarely at the intruder's head.
Truthfully, he had no confidence in his shooting accuracy; while he had managed to hit stationary targets, a moving person was an entirely different challenge. But he remembered a saying from his previous life: the greatest power of a nuclear weapon lies in its presence, not its detonation.
In this moment, the principle was the same—his strongest leverage lay in the threat before any shot was fired. By not pulling the trigger or firing recklessly, the intruder wouldn't know Klein's inexperience, and the uncertainty would likely bind him in fear and hesitation, possibly limiting his own options.
Instantly, a series of thoughts flashed through Klein's mind, solidifying his resolve. He wasn't someone who grew calmer under pressure; he had anticipated encountering his stalker and had prepared to use intimidation over aggression.
Klein remembered a phrase from his homeland: "Forewarned is forearmed."
As he aimed his revolver at the intruder, the man froze, sensing the imminent threat. Moments later, the man heard a voice, carrying a faint hint of laughter:
"Good evening, sir."
The intruder's hands tensed, his body coiling with latent energy. Klein, seated on the bottom bunk, kept his revolver trained on the man's head and spoke with as much calm and ease as he could muster:
"Please, raise your hands and turn around slowly. Honestly, I'm a nervous person, prone to… accidental discharges if startled. Yes, just like that."
The man raised his hands halfway, turning slowly. Klein's gaze first caught the orderly black buttons of his close-fitting outfit, then the intense lines of his sharp, bushy brows. There was no fear in his deep blue eyes; instead, Klein felt as if he were staring into the gaze of a predator, one that might pounce at any moment to tear him apart.
He tightened his grip on the revolver, striving to maintain a steady, composed expression.
Only when the man faced him fully did Klein gesture with his chin toward the door and say softly:
"Let's take this outside, shall we? No need to disturb anyone's sleep. And, please, slow steps. Gentlemen are, above all, courteous…"
The man's cold eyes flicked toward Klein, but he followed the command, keeping his hands raised as he moved toward the door. Under Klein's watchful aim, he gripped the handle and slowly opened it.
Just as the door creaked halfway open, the man dropped into a crouch and rolled forward. The door, seemingly pulled by a sudden gust of wind, slammed shut with a loud bang.
"Hmm…" Benson, on the top bunk, stirred awake, mumbling sleepily.
Outside, a tranquil yet haunting melody drifted in, accompanied by a deep, soothing voice that chanted:
"Ah, the threat of fear, the scarlet hope…"
"At least one thing is true: this life passes."
"One thing is true, all else is lies,
Blossoms bloom once, then bid the world goodbye..."
The poem seemed to have a soothing and calming effect, causing Benson in the upper bunk and Melissa in the adjacent room to drift back to sleep, still drowsy.
Klein felt a peaceful calm wash over him, almost prompting a yawn.
The agile escape maneuver of the thin man just now had been so swift that Klein hadn't even had time to react.
Staring at the closed door, he smiled slightly and muttered to himself, "Believe it or not, that shot was actually a blank."
A precaution against accidental firing!
Afterward, Klein continued listening to the midnight serenade, patiently waiting for the fight outside to conclude.
In less than a minute, the calming, moonlit-lake-like melody ceased, and the deep silence of the night returned.
Klein silently rotated the revolver's chamber, moving the empty chamber away, as he waited for the outcome.
He waited for a full ten minutes, feeling a growing tension and debating whether he should go check things out, when finally Dunn Smith's steady, warm voice sounded at the door:
"It's over."
Exhaling in relief, Klein secured his revolver, grabbed his keys, and carefully tiptoed barefoot toward the door. He opened it quietly to find Dunn Smith standing across the hall, his black coat falling to his knees, his half-height hat in place, and his gray eyes deep and calm.
Closing the door softly behind him, Klein followed Dunn to the end of the hallway, standing under the faint crimson moonlight.
"Took a little time to enter his dream," Dunn said, gazing at the red moon outside, his tone calm.
"Did you figure out his background?" Klein felt a wave of relief.
Dunn nodded slightly and replied, "An ancient group called the 'Mysticism Society.' They were established during the Fourth Epoch and are linked to the Solomon Empire and certain depraved nobles of that time. Ha, the Antigonus family journal originated with them. Because of a member's oversight, it ended up in the antiquities market and was obtained by Welch. They had to send people to retrieve it."
Before Klein could ask further questions, Dunn continued, "We'll trace leads and capture some of their members. Hmm, the results may not be stellar, as they hide as skillfully as sewer rats. However, they'll at least realize that we likely have the Antigonus family's journal or critical information about it. In that case, unless the item is extremely important, they'll abandon their search. This is their survival philosophy."
"What if the journal is indeed crucial?" Klein asked, concern evident.
Dunn smiled without answering directly, instead saying, "We know little about the Mysticism Society. This success is thanks to your quick thinking. It's your contribution. Considering the potential, lurking dangers, and your enhanced intuition, which could aid in tracking down the journal, you're being granted a choice."
"A choice?" Klein had a vague inkling of what this entailed, and his breath subconsciously quickened.
Dunn's expression became solemn and respectful as he said, "Would you like to become an Extraordinary? You can only start from an incomplete sequence."
"Of course, you could also forego this chance, accumulate merit, and wait until you have enough to become a 'Sleepless,' the initial stage of the Night Goddess's personally bestowed path of night sentinels—a complete sequence controlled by the Church."
As expected... Klein's heart leapt with joy, without any hesitation for now. He promptly asked:
"Which 'Sequence 9' options are available?"
He would need detailed information to make a decision about whether to forgo or accept and which option to choose!
Dunn turned slightly, bathed in the faint crimson "veil" as he looked into Klein's eyes and said slowly:
"Besides the Sleepless, the Church has three other 'Sequence 9' potion formulas. One of them is called the 'Seer,' which is the ability old Neil possesses. Ha, Rosanne may have mentioned it to you; she can never keep her mouth shut."
Klein gave an awkward smile, unsure how to respond, but thankfully Dunn didn't mind and continued:
"Our 'Seer' potion formula, along with parts of its incomplete sequence, comes from the 'Moss Ascetic Order.' Back then, they were said to be uncorrupted, adhering to principles of morality and discipline, pursuing knowledge with dedication and strict secrecy. Every initiate, after becoming a 'Seer,' had to remain silent for five years, learning to keep quiet to enhance focus. The saying 'Do as you will, but harm none' originated from their ranks."
"A 'Seer' has a broad yet elementary grasp of magical, mystical, and astrological knowledge. They are familiar with many ritualistic spells but can easily perceive certain presences hidden behind things. Therefore, they must exercise extreme caution and hold a profound respect for supernatural powers."
"We lack most of this sequence, so the fragments don't form a complete chain—for example, we don't have the Sequence 8. Perhaps the 'Cathedral' possesses it."
This fits nearly all my requirements… Klein nodded slightly, feeling tempted.
Fortunately, he remembered there were other options:
"What about the other two?"
"The second is called 'Corpse Collector.' Many of the cultists in the southern continent who worship the God of Death choose this path. After consuming this potion, they're mistaken by mindless undead as one of their own and are therefore spared from attacks. They can endure the cold, withstand the effects of decay and the stench of death, and can directly see certain malevolent spirits. Additionally, they understand the characteristics and weaknesses of many undead creatures and gain some physical enhancements. We also have its Sequence 8 and Sequence 7. Heh, you can probably guess its Sequence 7—'Spirit Medium!' This was Dailly's choice," Dunn explained in detail.
The idea of becoming a "Spirit Medium" did indeed seem mysterious and cool, but Klein's main desire was to master mystical knowledge… He remained silent, listening attentively.
Dunn Smith turned his head to gaze at the crimson moonlight and said, "The third type we only have Sequence 9 for. Whether the 'Cathedral' holds more of it, I don't know. It's called the 'Diviner.'"
Diviner? Klein's pupils contracted as he recalled Emperor Roselle's note of regret in his diary:
He had regretted not choosing between Apprentice, Thief, and Diviner.