160 Böklund Street. In the sunny study.
The bookshelves were orderly arranged with a huge collection. At a glance, one appeared as though they had stepped into a private library.
Klein sat on a high-back chair as he read the newspapers. He discovered that be it the Tussock Times or the Backlund Daily Tribune, there was an additional advertisement in a striking spot—it advertised selling 10% of the Backlund Bike Company’s shares.
He quickly activated his Spirit Vision and saw Reinette Tinekerr walk out of the void. She still held the four blonde, red-eyed heads in her hand, with one of them having a letter in its mouth.
“Thank you.”
As he spoke, he subconsciously glanced at the door because standing outside was his valet, Richardson.
After tearing open the envelope and unfolding the letter, Klein quickly scanned it, confirming that it was written by Sharron. She indicated that she had no intention of buying Biological Poison Bottle, and she might only consider it after a period of time if it was still available.
As he thought about it, Klein looked up and saw Miss Messenger’s eight red eyes looking at him intently.
He jumped in fright, imagining that she was urging him to pay the debt he owed her. He cleared his throat and said, “There’s no need to reply.
“I’ll be paying the first installment within the week.”
Reinette Tinekerr’s four heads spoke one after another.
“There’s no…” “Rush…” “There’s no…” “Interest…”
After burning the letter and resting for half an hour, he walked to the door to inform Richardson to prepare the carriage.
He planned on heading to the cathedral before his philosophy class in the afternoon.
The journey there was smooth sailing, and Klein arrived at the square outside Saint Samuel Cathedral after a few sips of tea.
After gaining the serenity from taking in the sights of the pigeons, he strode towards the cathedral’s main door, entered the prayer hall, and randomly found a pew to sit at. Like before, Richardson sat diagonally behind him with his master’s hat and cane.
As he emptied his mind during his prayers, Klein’s spiritual perception was triggered once again. He instinctively opened his eyes and looked left.
He saw the black-haired, green-eyed Leonard Mitchell.
This Nighthawk wasn’t wearing a trench coat. He looked casual with his white shirt tucked out while matching them with straight trousers and a black vest.
Seeing the middle-aged man with gray streaks at his sideburns look at him, he smiled with a nod, retracted his gaze, and closed his eyes in a bid to pretend to pray.
He wasn’t worried that the man would discover that he was watching him, because he had only done a cursory sweep without any additional actions. Many believers present had similar actions as well.
It was inevitable for a good-looking, dignified gentleman to attract some attention when he entered. Leonard Mitchell was someone who often attracted such attention, so he knew this very well.
At this moment, the slightly aged voice sounded in his mind.
Klein was also pretending to pray as puzzlement surfaced in his thinking mind.
Upon having this thought, Klein suddenly realized something.
Upon making this judgment, Klein immediately felt his heart in his throat. He felt like dangerous traps were surrounding him.
He maintained his praying posture, and the eyes under his eyelids remained motionless. His entire person was calm and reserved, completely identical to the cathedral’s atmosphere.
After an unknown period of time, he slowly got up and walked to the altar. He came before the donation box and threw in a total of 50 pounds in cash.
Following that, he did the same as before, smiling at the bishop and priest on duty while nodding. He received a rather friendly response.
The moment he walked out of Saint Samuel Cathedral, Klein received his hat from Richardson, and he fed the pigeons on the square for about ten minutes.
And behind him, the believers who had finished their prayers walked out, including Leonard Mitchell.
Without looking at the entrance, Klein leisurely clapped his hands, took his gold-inlaid cane, and walked to the nearby four-wheeled carriage.
Leonard was similarly feeding the pigeons on the square, but he didn’t have any intention of following when he saw his target leave on the carriage.
Since the person had an ancient aura and that the parasite in him placed such importance on him, he obviously didn’t dare to be careless. He didn’t act directly, as it was extremely dangerous.
He planned on making superficial investigations to gather the required intelligence.
He was an experienced Nighthawk, and he was even an elite Red Glove among the Nighthawks!
At this moment, a pigeon spread its wings and flew over. In its beak there appeared to be a paper slip.
Leonard frowned as he reached out his left palm and saw the pigeon fly down before dropping the slip. Then, it flapped its wings and flew off.
Raising the paper slip, Leonard warily unfolded it while feeling puzzled. He saw two lines of text on it:
“Zoroast;
“Parasite.”
At that moment, Leonard felt that every action the middle-aged man with white sideburns and blue eyes had done had left him shocked when he recalled them. He was someone not to be looked at directly or approached.
He immediately lost all thoughts of investigating the man. As he watched the pigeons land, he said with a suppressed voice, “Old Man, he might be an old friend of yours.
“If you wish to investigate, then it’s best that you wait till your strength recovers.”
“Old friend…” the slightly aged voice repeated the two words as though he found it suspect but couldn’t be certain.
Leonard quickly converged his emotions and chuckled.
“So you’re someone from the Zoroast family…”
At this moment, about a hundred meters away, at the intersection of Phelps Street and the other streets.
The black-haired Dwayne Dantès who had streaks of gray hair leaned onto the wall as he slowly closed his eyes, hiding his wrinkled facial features in the shadows of the carriage.
To the side of his valet, Richardson, a middle-aged man wearing a dark red coat and old triangular hat appeared, bowing to his master before disappearing. No one saw this illusory figure.
The carriage slowly turned as a flock of pigeons flew up from the square.
…
After returning home and entering the room with the huge balcony, the silent Klein finally heaved a silent sigh of relief.
This wouldn’t make the Grandpa believe that Dwayne Dantès was so weak that he had to rely on others to fend him off. It was more of a friendly warning that wouldn’t number beyond three times, a form of respect towards an angel.
If two warnings weren’t enough to rein him in, there was no other choice but to inform Blasphemer Amon.
As he relaxed, there was a knock on the door. His valet, Richardson, said, “Sir, the butler wishes to seek an audience with you.”
“Please invite him in.” Klein left the balcony and returned to the half-open room.
The white-gloved Walter entered and said, “Sir, your philosophy teacher, Mr. Hamid, is here.”
He had previously heard from Walter that Mr. Hamid was a believer of the Lord of Storms. It was the same for the famous scholar, Leumi, as well. Many of the philosophers in the Loen Kingdom shared the same faith.
This made him rather surprised because, to him, believers in the Storm were irascible bros.
