026 Practise

The footsteps echoed through the dim and narrow corridor, resonating in the quiet surroundings, free from any noise.

Klein walked with the middle-aged priest in a dignified manner, neither hurried nor leisurely, silent like the still waters of a windless lake.

Passing through the tightly guarded passage, the middle-aged priest opened a secret door with a key, pointing to the stone staircase leading downward.

"To the left at the intersection is Chains Gate," he said.

"May the Goddess bless you," Klein responded, making the sign of the Red Moon across his chest.

Worldly affairs require worldly etiquette, while religious matters adhere to their own rituals.

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

Klein said no more, descending the stone steps, guided by the elegant gas lamps adorning the walls on either side.

Halfway down, he instinctively turned back, seeing the middle-aged priest still standing at the doorway, bathed in the shadow of the gas lamp, motionless like a wax statue.

Klein redirected his gaze and continued downward. Before long, he reached the crossroads and turned neither towards Chains Gate nor towards Dunn Smith, who had surely just completed his shift.

Following the familiar path to the right, Klein ascended another staircase, arriving at the Blackthorn Security Company's premises.

Seeing closed or partially open doors, he didn't rush to search but entered the reception hall, where he saw a sweet-smiling brunette girl engrossed in reading a magazine.

"Hi, Rochelle," Klein approached from the side and lightly tapped the table.

Clang!

Startled, Rochelle stood up, knocking over her chair, flustered as she spoke:

"Hi, the weather's nice today. You, you, Klein, what brings you here?"

Placing a hand on her chest, she breathed heavily, resembling a young girl afraid of being caught by her father for slacking off.

"I need to see the captain," Klein replied briefly.

"...You scared me! I thought the captain had come out," Rochelle scolded Klein with a glare. "You didn't even knock! Humph, you should consider yourself lucky that I'm a tolerant and kind lady, um, I prefer the word 'lass'... What do you need the captain for? He's in the room opposite Mrs. Oriana."

Even though his nerves were tense, Klein couldn't help but smile at Rochelle's teasing. After a brief pause, he said:

"It's confidential."

Rochelle widened her eyes in disbelief, but Klein gave a slight bow and quickly excused himself.

Passing through the partition door of the reception room, he knocked on the door of the first office on the right.

"Come in," Dunn Smith's low, gentle voice sounded.

Klein entered, closing the door behind him, and tipped his hat as he greeted:

"Good morning, Captain."

"Good morning, what can I do for you?" Dunn's black coat and hat hung on the coat rack nearby, revealing a body clad in a white shirt and black waistcoat. Despite his receding hairline and deep gray eyes, he looked refreshed.

"Someone is tracking me," Klein replied truthfully, without embellishment.

Dunn leaned back, clasping his hands together, his deep gray eyes fixed on Klein's.

He didn't address the tracking topic immediately but instead asked:

"You've come from the church?"

"Yes," Klein affirmed.

Dunn nodded slightly, neither confirming nor denying, then returned to the matter at hand:

"It might be Welch's father. He doesn't believe the cause of death we reported and has hired a private detective from Windtown to investigate."

The Coniston City, also known as Windtown, was a region known for its thriving steel and coal industries and ranked in the top three among all cities in the Kingdom of Rune.

Before Klein could express his opinion, Dunn continued:

"It could also stem from the source of that notebook. We're investigating where Welch got the notes from the Antigonus family, and of course, we can't rule out other individuals or organizations interested in that notebook."

"What should I do?" Klein asked solemnly.

Undoubtedly, he hoped it was the former reason.

Dunn didn't respond immediately, picking up his coffee cup and taking a sip. His gray eyes showed no ripples as he said:

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

"Anything?" Klein asked in return.

"Anything," Dunn affirmed with a nod, "but do not scare them away or break the law."

"Understood," Klein took a deep breath, bid farewell, turned, and left the room, returning to the basement.

He turned left at the crossroads, bathed in the light of the gas lamps on either side, quietly walking through the deserted, dim, and cold passages.

The echoing footsteps intensified the sense of solitude and fear. Soon, Klein approached the staircase, ascending step by step until he saw the middle-aged priest standing in the shadows at the doorway.

Without a word exchanged, the middle-aged priest silently stepped aside, clearing the path.

Continuing silently, Klein returned to the grand sanctuary, where the radiant and pure light still poured through the round holes in the wall, maintaining the dim tranquility of the room, with fewer gentlemen and ladies waiting outside the confessionals.

After waiting for a while, Klein picked up his cane and newspaper, as if nothing had happened, and calmly left the grand sanctuary, exiting Saint Selena's Cathedral.

Just as he stepped out and saw the sun, the familiar sensation of being watched returned, making him feel like prey being scrutinized by an eagle.

Suddenly, a doubt emerged in his mind:

Why didn't the Watcher follow me into the church? Even if he had, I could have used the darkness and the priest's help to briefly evade him. Was it so difficult for him to pretend to pray and monitor me? Is there a problem with entering openly, since I haven't done anything wrong? Unless he has a dark past, fears the church, or is afraid of the bishop, knowing that the other party may have extraordinary abilities...

In that case, the possibility of a private detective is very low...

Phew! Klein exhaled, no longer as tense as before, and strolled leisurely, heading to Zotlin Street.

He stopped in front of an old building with a number "3" on the door, bearing the name "Zotlin Shooting Club".

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

As soon as he entered, the feeling of being watched disappeared. Seizing the opportunity, Klein presented the badge of the "Special Operations Department" to the receptionist.

After a brief verification, he was led underground to a closed-off shooting range.

"10 meters," Klein instructed the attendant briefly before retrieving his revolver from his holster and the box of brass-colored bullets from his pocket.

Feeling suddenly scrutinized, his desire for self-preservation overcame procrastination, so he eagerly began practicing marksmanship.

Clack!

Once the attendant left, Klein spun the cylinder, ejecting the silver demon-hunting bullets one by one, then picked up the brass-colored bullets and loaded them into the chambers, without leaving space for a precautionary misfire, nor did he remove his formal coat or take off his half-high hat. After all, it wouldn't be practical to cry out "Please hold on, let me change into

 something lighter" upon encountering enemies or danger.

Clack! 

Klein closed the cylinder, sliding his thumb over it. 

Suddenly, he raised his gun straight, aiming at the target 10 meters away. However, instead of shooting immediately, he carefully recalled his experiences from military training, remembering the concepts of sight alignment, recoil, and the three-point shooting line.

Swish! Swish!

Amidst the rustle of clothing, Klein practiced aiming and grip posture repeatedly, as earnestly as a child taking a college entrance exam.

After numerous repetitions, he retreated to a spot against the wall, sat on a soft bench, and massaged his arms, resting for quite a while.

After a few minutes of reflection, Klein picked up the wooden grip and copper-colored cylinder of the revolver again, returning to the shooting position, assuming the standard posture, and pulling the trigger.

Bang!

His arm trembled, his body slightly recoiled, and the bullet deviated from the target.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Drawing from experience, he fired shot by shot, gradually stabilizing his aim through practice, and began aiming for accuracy.

He unloaded the remaining five rounds, took a deep breath, then ejected the six empty casings, showing no change in expression as he reloaded the remaining brass-colored bullets one by one.

Relaxing his sore arms, Klein stood up again, reviewed his experience while summarizing his practice at the shooting position.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The sound of gunfire echoed, the target swayed, and Klein practiced repeatedly, taking breaks, using up the thirty standard bullets he received plus the five remaining ones, gradually stabilizing his accuracy and pursuing higher scores.

After shaking his sore arms, he emptied the last five casings, then stooped down, loading one silver demon-hunting bullet after another, reserving space for potential misfires.

With the revolver back in his shoulder holster, Klein brushed off the gunpowder residue from his body, feeling relaxed, and walked out of the dedicated shooting range, back onto the street.

Though he felt scrutinized once again, Klein's mood was calmer than before. He leisurely made his way to Champagne Street, spending four pennies to ride the tram back to Iron Cross Street and entering his apartment building.

The sensation of being spied on vanished silently as he pulled out his keys, unlocked the door, and saw a man in his late twenties, dressed in a linen shirt with very short hair, sitting at the desk.

His heart tightened, then relaxed. Klein smiled and greeted:

"Good afternoon, no, good noon, Benson."

The man was none other than Klein's and Melissa's elder brother, Benson Moretti, only 25 years old this year but looking almost 30 due to his receding hairline.

With his black hair and brown eyes, he bore some resemblance to Klein but lacked the scholarly air.

"Good noon, Klein. How did the interview go?" Benson stood up, a smile playing on his lips.

His black coat and half-high hat hung on the protruding part of the high-low bed.

"Terribly," Klein replied expressionlessly.

Seeing Benson's puzzled expression, Klein chuckled and added:

"In fact, I didn't attend the interview at all. I found a job in advance, paying £3 per week..."

He repeated the words he had said to Melissa earlier.

Benson relaxed his expression and shook his head, smiling:

"It feels like watching a child grow up... Well, that's a good job."

He sighed:

"To come back and hear such good news, that's excellent. We should celebrate tonight, perhaps buy some beef?"

Klein smiled:

"Alright, but I think Melissa would be upset. Shall we go shopping together this afternoon? Bring at least 3 shillings? Uh, honestly, 1 pound equals 20 shillings, and 1 shilling equals 12 pence, plus half a penny, and a quarter penny. Such a currency system is simply counterintuitive, very troublesome. I think it must be one of the most foolish currency systems in the world."

After speaking, he noticed Benson's expression had turned serious, suddenly feeling a bit uneasy, wondering if he had said something wrong.

Was Benson, in the original host's fragmented memory, a pure and extreme supporter of the kingdom, intolerant of any dissent?

Benson paced for a moment, then refuted seriously:

"No, not one of them."

Not one of them... Klein was momentarily stunned, then quickly realized and exchanged a smile with his brother.

Sure enough, Benson was adept at sarcastic humor.

With a slight upturn of his lips, Benson added earnestly:

"You should understand that formulating a reasonable and simple currency system requires a prerequisite: understanding how to count, mastering the decimal system. Unfortunately, among those bigwigs, such talents are too rare."