Who? Why does he know that I've bought the Sheriff formula? Xio's dark green pupils constricted as she looked around in surprise, but she didn't notice any suspicious gazes.
According to Mr. A, it should be very safe and confidential to make a transaction here … In the end, Xio couldn't help but look at the single-seater sofa. She saw Mr. A, whose face was concealed by his hood, still quietly sizing up everyone without showing any signs of abnormality.
She nudged Fors with her elbow and whispered, "What's wrong?
"Should I go?"
Fors took the slip of paper, glanced at it, and answered without hesitation, "Go. At least Mr. A is watching, so no one will dare do anything to you. You can take the opportunity to figure out the other party's goal. Who knows, you might really be able to obtain the potion ingredients you want?"
"That makes sense …" Xio was a very decisive person. She immediately nodded at the attendant and followed him out of the study, putting on a hooded robe.
This hat can cover my entire face. I can't even see the road ahead … Xio put on her hood, opened the door, and saw a man in a black tuxedo sitting behind the desk.
The man wore a golden mask that revealed his eyes, nostrils, mouth, and cheeks, making it impossible to imagine his original appearance.
The light brown eyes behind the golden mask darted around as the man pointed at the chair opposite the desk.
"Sit."
His voice was deliberately deep and hoarse, but there was nothing special about it.
Xio closed the door to the study, puffed out her chest, and raised her head. She sat in her reserved seat without losing her bearing.
She asked, "You have the main ingredients for the Sheriff potion?"
The masked man chuckled.
"Yes, I have the eyes of a Terror Demon Worm and the right paw of a Silver War Bear."
"In fact, I was the one who got someone to sell the Sheriff potion formula."
No wonder … Although Xio was often mocked by her friends for being brainless, she wasn't a completely rash person to be able to survive in the Beyonder circle, the gangs in East Borough, and the poor. She had a beast-like intuition for danger.
She asked in a deep voice,
"Why are you doing this?"
"Select suitable helpers." "With your financial situation, it will be very difficult for you to gather the money needed for these two Beyonder ingredients in a short period of time. Of course, you can resell the formula at other Beyonder gatherings, but please believe me that this will bring you unnecessary danger. Our circles might not overlap, but I'm not alone."
Xio frowned and said, "Since you have a huge organization and the Sheriff and Arbiter potion formulas, why do you need my help?"
"There are many reasons why we don't want to do it ourselves, but there's no need for me to tell you. Every Arbiter who relies on themselves to become a Beyonder will more or less have some noble connections. This is also what we need," the masked man explained briefly.
From the looks of it, he doesn't know of my origins or even my reputation in East Borough … Xio relaxed a little.
The masked man continued.
"Just treat it as a commission outside the Beyonder gathering. I will give you some missions and pay you the corresponding remuneration. If you feel that it's dangerous, you can reject it. This is a fair and free transaction. When you have enough money, you can come to me to buy ingredients."
This … Xio, who was feeling vexed over her financial situation, immediately felt her heart palpitate.
After remaining reserved for nine seconds, she said, "As long as I have the right to reject the mission, I can consider it."
"No problem." The masked man laughed and said, "We can now decide on the location and method of our future meeting. In order to make you feel at ease, I'll leave the leadership to you."
"Alright." Although Xio was still confused and didn't understand why the other party wanted her to do something for him, she still agreed.
At the very least, she couldn't see any obvious harm at the moment.
…
Throughout the day on Sunday, Klein busied himself buying chairs, tea sets, and mending clothes. He spent a total of 6 pounds 9 soli to restore the living room, dining room, and himself to their original state.
What a loss. I hope the police department can eventually compensate me for my losses from Meursault's inheritance. Sigh, there's not much hope. At most, it'll be a portion. Klein neatly put away the invoices and receipts, waiting for an opportunity to use them in the future.
Of course, from a pure income point of view, he had actually earned quite a bit. Meursault's Beyonder characteristic was worth at least 300 pounds, maybe even more.
And the premise of all of this was that Klein could come into contact with the Beyonder circle.
After dinner, Klein put on a solid-colored sweater, a grayish-blue worker's coat, and a cap. He went out again, changed buses twice, and arrived at Iron Gate Street in the Baekeland Bridge area.
After taking a few steps, he saw The Brave. He saw a seemingly heavy black wooden door and a burly man who was nearly two meters tall with his arms crossed.
The burly man sized up Klein and didn't stop him from pushing the door open. However, when he heard the cheers and toasts inside, his throat moved.
It was the peak time of the bar's business. Before Klein even entered, he felt a wave of heat inundating him. He smelled the strong fragrance of malt and heard a hubbub.
As expected, he saw two stages in the middle of the bar. One was playing a game of cat-and-mouse, and the other had two boxers waiting patiently, preparing for the battle that was about to begin.
The fragrance of alcohol was mixed with the smell of sweat. Klein pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses and pinched his nose. While protecting his belongings, he struggled to squeeze his way to the bar counter.
Without waiting for the bartender to speak, he spoke first.
"A glass of Southville beer."
This was the best beer produced in the Kingdom of Rouen.
"Five pence," the bartender answered familiarly.
Klein took out a handful of coins, counted five pence, and gave it to the bartender in exchange for a large wooden cup filled with golden liquor. The aroma of the beer was rich and alluring.
"In front of it, many beers can't even be called alcohol. They can only be considered beverages." The bartender chuckled.
Klein took a sip and found it refreshing. First, it was bitter with a hint of fragrance. Following that, the taste of malt surged out, and the aftertaste was a little sweet.
Putting down the cup, he looked at the delicate white foam and took the opportunity to ask,
"Where's Kaspars Kalinin?"
The bartender stopped wiping the cup and looked up at him for a few seconds before pointing to the side.
"Billiard room number three."
In the spirit of not wasting anything, Klein carried the cup and walked to billiard room number three.
With a light knock, the door creaked open.
The two men holding billiard cues stopped and looked at the door.
"I'm looking for Kaspars Kalinin." In the silent atmosphere, Klein quickly added, "'Old Man' introduced me."
Upon hearing this, the old man in his fifties with a big nose and a linen shirt said in a deep voice,
"Come in."
There was a huge, upturned scar on his face, stretching from the corner of his right eye to the right side of his mouth. His nose was a typical rosacea, almost completely dyed red.
Klein walked in slowly with his cup in hand. He saw Kalinin's snooker opponent put down his cue and leave the room, closing the door behind him.
Kaspars Kalinin limped over and asked,
"What do you want?"
"A powerful, custom-made revolver and fifty rounds of bullets." Klein drank another mouthful of Southville beer.
"Three pounds ten soli." Kaspars gave the price. "This will definitely be more expensive than a regular weapon store. It includes the risk I'm taking."
"Deal." Klein took out five one-pound notes that he had prepared earlier from his trouser pocket and counted four of them for the man.
Kaspars casually checked the authenticity and nodded.
"You're more straightforward than you look. Give me five minutes."
He placed the notes on the billiard table, leaned against the cue pole, and limped to the door.
After watching Kaspars leave, Klein turned his head to look at the current trend in snooker in boredom. He discovered that it was very similar to the mature snooker on Earth.
It must be you, Rosell The Great … He nearly shook his head and laughed.
After waiting for a while, Kaspars pushed open the door and entered. In his hand was an item wrapped in kraft paper and two five-soli notes.
Klein took the money and the item and opened it on the spot. He saw a silver-white revolver with a long barrel. Its handle seemed to be made of walnut wood.
Apart from that, there were fifty glistening yellow bullets neatly placed in a box.
Klein tested the empty gun, loaded five rounds, and stuffed the revolver into the armpit holster he had bought earlier. He then packed up the remaining bullets, looked up at Kaspars, and said after some deliberation, "You're not going to be able to kill me.
He deliberated and said, "If I want to hire a powerful bodyguard, who should I look for?"
"Extremely powerful, the kind that exceeds the limits of humans."
Kaspars rubbed his red nose as his gaze turned cold.
He carefully scrutinized Klein for two minutes, using his silence to create a terrifying sense of oppression.
"I can help you ask, but I can't guarantee that someone will accept the mission."
He seems to know more than one Beyonder … The corners of Klein's mouth curled up.
"Regardless of the outcome, please allow me to express my gratitude in advance."
Kaspars put away the notes on the billiard table and walked out again. After a full ten minutes, he returned to the room. By then, Klein had already finished his large glass of Southville beer out of boredom.
"He wants to meet you before making a decision," Kaspars said in a deep voice.
"No problem. If it were me, I would also first evaluate the difficulty of the mission." Klein smiled and nodded.
He followed behind Kaspars, who was walking with difficulty, through the crowded boxing ring and into the bar's kitchen.
Kaspars suddenly stopped and knocked on a door. After receiving permission, he led Klein in.
It was a card room, and there were more than ten people playing Texas Hold 'em.
Upon seeing Kaspars and Klein enter, a man in a white shirt and black vest slowly stood up. The others who were playing cards stopped moving and didn't make a sound.
With a sweep of his gaze, Klein frowned indiscernibly.
He discovered that apart from the man who had stood up, the rest of the players had an indescribable strangeness to them. Their faces were pale, and their eyes were like those of wild beasts.
Tapping his left molar twice, Klein secretly activated his Spirit Vision.
His muscles tensed up, and he almost couldn't control his expression. This was because the auras of the players were all dark black!
This meant that apart from the man who had stood up, the rest were all dead!
No, they weren't simply dead. Dead people didn't have auras!
These were zombies!
The feeling of decay inundated him as the man in the white shirt and black vest walked in front of Klein.
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