At 160 Börklund Street, in the study with excellent lighting.
Rows of bookshelves filled with numerous collections—at a glance, it could easily be mistaken for a private library.
Klein was sitting in a high-backed chair, reading the day's newspapers. He noticed that both the *Tussok Times* and the *Backlund Daily* had a new prominent advertisement—an offer to transfer a 10% stake in the Backlund Bicycle Company.
"Mr. Stanton certainly works quickly. It's only been a few days and he's already completed the financial investigation and valuation..." As Klein silently remarked on this, his spirituality stirred.
He quickly activated his Spirit Vision and saw Miss Messenger, Reinette Tinekerr, step out from the void. In her hand, she still carried the bundle of four golden-haired, crimson-eyed heads, one of which had a letter clamped between its teeth.
"It should be Miss Sharon's reply..." Klein thought as he reached out to take it, nodding slightly. "Thank you."
As he spoke, he instinctively glanced toward the study door, knowing his valet, Richardson, was stationed outside.
Tearing open the envelope and unfolding the paper, Klein quickly scanned its contents. He confirmed the letter was from Miss Sharon. She stated she currently had no intention of purchasing the "Biological Toxin Vial," but might consider it later if the magical item was still available.
"Financial difficulties? Or is she saving up for something more important?" Klein mused idly, intuitively leaning toward the latter possibility. The demigod called Zatwun couldn't stay in Backlund forever, and Sharon and Maric seemed to have initially escaped the pursuit of the Rose School of Thought. Given their Beyonder strength and Sequence traits, making money was relatively easy in a relaxed environment. Moreover, they appeared to control the black-market arms trade at the "Brave Bar" and act as Ian's backers—just this one pipeline alone must bring in a considerable sum.
As Klein was thinking this, he looked up and saw Miss Messenger's four pairs of red eyes staring fixedly at him without blinking.
Startled, he thought she might be urging him to repay his debt. Clearing his throat, he said, "No need for a reply. The first installment will be paid this week."
Reinette Tinekerr's four heads spoke in turn:
"No..." "Rush..." "Without..." "Interest..."
"Miss Messenger is really quite nice..." As Klein sighed inwardly, Reinette Tinekerr's figure vanished on the spot, returning to the depths of the Spirit World.
Burning the letter, he rested for half an hour, then went to the door to instruct Richardson to prepare the carriage.
He planned to visit a church before his afternoon philosophy lesson.
The journey was smooth. Having only had a few sips of black tea, Klein soon arrived at the square in front of Saint Samuel Cathedral.
After enjoying the peaceful sight of the white doves for a while, he stepped through the cathedral's main doors, entered the prayer hall, and casually found a seat. Richardson, as before, sat at a slight diagonal behind him, holding his employer's hat and cane.
As he prayed, letting his mind go blank, Klein's spirituality was stirred again. He instinctively opened his eyes and glanced to his left.
He saw Leonard Mitchell, with his dark hair and green eyes.
The Nighthawk wasn't wearing a trench coat. His white shirt was untucked, paired with straight-leg trousers and a black vest, giving a very casual impression.
Seeing the middle-aged gentleman with a touch of gray at his temples glance over, Leonard smiled and nodded slightly, then averted his gaze, closed his eyes, and pretended to pray.
He wasn't worried about being caught staring. He had only swept his gaze over him, nothing more—plenty of other worshippers in the church had done the same.
When an attractive, well-dressed gentleman enters a place, he inevitably attracts some attention. Leonard Mitchell knew this well from being on the receiving end of such looks himself.
Just then, a slightly aged voice echoed in his mind.
"That's him."
*Heh, my efforts of running to the church yesterday and today weren't in vain...* Leonard thought with slight smugness, keeping his face impassive.
Klein was also pretending to pray, pondering the doubt that had risen in his heart.
"When did Leonard become so devout? Of course, he's definitely more religious than I am, but not to the point of going to church every day. Once a week, maybe even once every two weeks... Did he come here on purpose? Just now... he seemed to be sizing me up..."
As this thought crossed his mind, Klein suddenly understood.
"The old man inside him is an angel of the Zoroast family, an Angel of the 'Thief' pathway... Amon the Blasphemer is the King of Angels of this pathway! He could detect the Gray Fog and even tried to invade it... So, the old man inside Leonard very likely sensed the power or traces of the Gray Fog on me!"
With this realization, Klein's heart immediately tightened, as if dangerous traps were now laid all around him.
He kept the posture of prayer, his pupils beneath his eyelids perfectly still. He was calm and reserved, completely in sync with the atmosphere of the church.
After an unknown time, he slowly rose, walked toward the altar, approached the offering box, and dropped in banknotes totaling 50 pounds.
Then, like before, he smiled and nodded at the bishop and priest on duty, receiving equally friendly nods in return.
Walking out of Saint Samuel Cathedral, Klein took his hat from Richardson and fed the doves for about ten minutes on the square.
Behind him, worshippers who had finished their prayers filed out one after another, including Leonard Mitchell.
Without looking back at the entrance, Klein leisurely clapped his hands, took his gilded cane, and walked toward the four-wheeled carriage waiting nearby.