Klein poured himself some coffee, grabbed the thick stack of historical documents organized by Old Neil along with the explanatory notes, and made his way through the basement, guided by the rows of gas lamps mounted along the wall.
The echo of his footsteps, *tap, tap, tap*, filled the sealed, silent underground as he climbed the spiral staircase and pushed open the door, glancing around briefly before heading directly to the second office across the hall.
After two days, Klein had become fairly familiar with the layout of the Blackthorn Security Company: upon entering, one stepped into a spacious reception area with a set of sofas and tables. Through a divider lay the inner section. The left side corridor hosted three rooms: first, Mrs. Orianna's accounting office, then a rest room with a few sofa beds, and finally, a stairway leading down to the basement.
On the right side, the rooms included, from near to far, Captain Dunn Smith's office, the office for clerical staff with a typewriter, and the entertainment room for the official members of the Night Watchers.
Klein had previously seen Leonard Mitchell in the entertainment room, playing cards with two other squad members. He suspected they were playing "Fight Against Evil," a game rebranded by Emperor Roselle, though the rules were identical to a game Klein once knew as "Fight the Landlord."
After his night shift, Brett was given a day off to sleep in, Rosanne was stationed at the reception desk, and Sezer Francis, responsible for purchases, supplies, and occasionally serving as a coachman, was out on an errand as usual. When Klein entered the clerical office, he found all three desks empty, with the purely mechanical typewriter resting silently on one.
"A 1346 model typewriter from the Axon Company…" Klein murmured, recalling similar items he'd seen in his mentor's office and Welch's home. The faintly visible complex control system held an allure—a beauty rooted in the mechanics themselves.
He seated himself at the desk with the typewriter, took a moment to gather his thoughts, and began to type as practice. Initially, he found himself instinctively reaching for pinyin, but after a short while, he adjusted, letting the residual memories of his host's skill settle in, and his typing flowed naturally.
*Tap, tap, tap!*
The rhythmic keystrokes rang out, forming a harsh yet strangely melodic tune, metal meeting metal—a song of industry. In this measured symphony, Klein quickly completed the document for his expense request.
But Klein didn't immediately seek out Dunn Smith. Instead, he composed himself and started reviewing the historical materials provided by Old Neil, both to refresh and expand his knowledge.
As noon approached, he stretched his neck, put the documents away, and mentally reviewed the morning's material on mysticism, as detailed in the course notes. Only then did he pick up the "application form" and head over to the office next door, knocking softly on the door.
Dunn was waiting for lunch to be delivered and, seeing the document Klein handed him, let a slight smile form at the corners of his mouth.
"Old Neil taught you this, didn't he?"
"Yes." Klein didn't hesitate in selling out Old Neil.
Dunn picked up his dark red pen and signed it swiftly. "I'll be sending this up along with our budget request for July, August, and September. Once it's approved, you can see Mrs. Orianna to collect the funds. As for the pendulum, you can pick that up this afternoon."
"Understood," Klein replied crisply, his tone and expression showing clear satisfaction.
Before leaving, he casually asked, "Isn't the budget for July, August, and September supposed to be submitted back in June?"
Usually, they wouldn't be submitting a budget request for July this late.
Dunn went silent for a moment, then lifted his coffee mug, took a sip, and said, "We had three cases back-to-back in June… certain things got… overlooked."
That's our forgetful captain for you… Klein realized he'd asked an awkward question and, with a chuckle, quickly excused himself.
Thus, Klein settled into a simple yet structured routine: thirty minutes of meditation each morning, two hours of mysticism courses in the late morning, followed by an hour and a half of historical study. After lunch, he'd take a brief nap in the rest room to regain his energy.
Then, he'd collect his daily rounds of bullets and head to the "Shooting Club" for practice. Afterward, he'd take a walk to Welch's residence—changing up his routes as he did so—then walk back to Iron Cross Street, cutting down on his public transportation costs. If he had spare time, he'd practice skills like spiritual vision and pendulum divination and pick up groceries on the way home.
…
In a private chemistry lab fully equipped with apparatus and materials, Audrey, tall and blonde, stared intently at the cup in her hand, watching countless bubbles rise, creating an atmosphere of serene anticipation.
Eventually, the liquid in the cup settled into a thick, silvery-white substance.
"Haha! I knew I had a knack for mysticism! Success on the first try! I even prepared two sets of materials just in case I failed," the young woman happily muttered to herself.
After carefully stowing away the remaining ingredients she had gathered from her family's vault and from other exchanges, Audrey took a deep breath, ready to close her eyes and drink the "Audience" potion.
Just then, barking sounds echoed from outside the lab, and Audrey frowned immediately.
She placed the cup with its gently rippling silvery liquid in a shadowed corner, turned around, and walked to the door.
"Susie, who's here?" Audrey asked, twisting the handle as she opened the door, speaking to the golden retriever sitting dutifully at the entrance.
The golden retriever, Susie, wagged her tail eagerly. At the same time, Audrey's maid, Annie, appeared in the nearby hallway.
Stepping out of the lab, Audrey closed the door behind her and turned to Annie.
"I told you, don't disturb me when I'm conducting experiments," she said.
Annie replied with an apologetic expression, "But there's an invitation from the Duchess, Lady Delaf."
"The wife of Duke Negan?" Audrey stepped closer, showing slight interest.
"Yes, she's hosting an afternoon tea with Lady Vivienne, the royal pastry chef, and invited Madam and you to attend," Annie recited from the invitation.
Audrey pursed her lips subtly. "Tell my mother I feel dizzy, perhaps due to the strong sunlight. I might be dehydrated. Ask her to apologize to Lady Delaf on my behalf."
As she spoke, Audrey made a show of appearing faint.
"Miss, it's more than just afternoon tea; it's also a literary salon," Annie added.
"But that won't cure my dizziness. I need to rest," Audrey said firmly.
Inwardly, she thought, *If they insist, I'll just faint on the spot. My etiquette teacher said I've perfected that move… Wait, did I just hear something?*
"Very well," Annie said with a sigh. "Shall I help you to your room?"
"No need, I'll tidy up the lab first," Audrey replied, already eager to return and take the potion.
But she kept her composure, watching Annie leave before she turned back to the lab door.
Suddenly, she noticed that her golden retriever, Susie, was missing, and the lab door was half-open.
"I forgot that Susie can open doors with handles… Wait, what's that sound? Oh no!" Audrey heard a distinct noise inside and, horrified by a realization, rushed into the lab.
Her gaze landed on the shattered cup on the floor, and Susie, the golden retriever, licking the last drop of silvery liquid.
Audrey froze in the doorway, stunned, like a statue.
Susie sat up immediately, gazing innocently at her owner, her tail wagging.
…
Off the coast near Port Priz, on an island perpetually engulfed by storms, an ancient sailing ship was docked. A man with soft blonde hair, clad in a robe embroidered with lightning patterns, looked at Alger Wilson across from him with a puzzled expression.
"Alger, you could easily return to the kingdom, become the leader of the Retribution Squadron, or even a respectable bishop. Why choose to go to sea, to become the captain of the *Azure Vengeance*?"
Alger's rugged and solemn face remained impassive as he answered with grave reverence, "The sea belongs to the Storm. This is the Lord's domain, and I am willing to follow the Lord's will and patrol this realm on His behalf."
"Alright." The blonde man clenched his fist and tapped it against his chest, saying, "May the Storm be with you."
"May the Storm be with you," Alger replied in the same formal manner.
He watched from the deck—manned by only a few crew members—as his companion left the ghostly ship, growing smaller in the distance.
"*Saens, you don't understand because you don't know enough…*" Alger muttered quietly.
***
Meanwhile, Audrey, after a nerve-wracking experience, successfully completed the second preparation of the potion.
Seeing the silver-white concoction that looked just like the previous attempt, she felt so relieved she nearly shed tears of joy.
With a deep breath, she quickly drank the *Audience* potion in small, rapid sips.
***
On Friday, a heavy downpour hit Tingen, with the rain pelting every window.
Inside Blackthorn Security Company, Klein, Rozanne, and Brett sat in the reception hall on the sofa, enjoying their lunch spread across the table.
Since there was only a stove for boiling water here, reheating leftovers was impossible. Klein couldn't bring himself to eat black bread every day, nor could he afford to take the tram home each lunchtime—if he did, he'd have to consider taking a tram back to the company after walking to Welch's residence from Iron Cross Street in the afternoon, which would be a needless expense. So, he had resigned himself to eating the so-called "office meals" with Rozanne and the others.
Nearby, Old Veer's Restaurant had a system set up: every day at 10:30 a.m., a waiter would arrive to ask how many people needed lunch, and after confirming the number, meals would be delivered at 12:30 in containers similar to lunch boxes. At 3 p.m., the waiter would return to ask if dinner was needed and to collect the used containers.
These meals included meat, vegetables, and bread. Although the portions weren't particularly large, they were enough to satisfy one person. Each meal ranged from 7 to 10 pence, depending on the selection.
Klein, trying to save wherever he could, shamelessly opted for the 7-pence meal each time. It typically included half a pound of oat bread, a small piece of meat cooked differently each day, a spoonful of thick vegetable soup, and a bit of cream or butter.
"Only one Night Watcher on duty today…" Rosanne commented, sipping her soup.
"I heard there was a case over in Golden Sycamore District. It involves some religious elements, so the police requested two Night Watchers to assist…" Brett set his bread down as he explained.
Klein dipped the remaining piece of oatmeal bread in his meat sauce and ate it without adding anything to the conversation. Tucked inside his left sleeve, a silver chain with a yellow crystal pendant hung faintly.
Just then, a knock came from the half-open door.
"...Come in," Rosanne said, pausing with slight surprise as she put down her spoon and quickly dabbed her mouth with a handkerchief before standing up.
The door opened, revealing a tall, thin man wearing a half-top hat, dressed in a black suit, with his left shoulder damp from the rain.
Gray streaks showed at his temples as he held a closed umbrella, glancing at Klein and the others.
"Is this still the old mercenary company?" he asked.
"You could say that," Rosanne responded with practiced ease.
The tall, thin man coughed slightly and said, "I have a task I'd like to commission."