At two in the afternoon, outside a two-story building on the northern outskirts of the city. The house had an ancient style, seemingly dilapidated and unkempt for years.
Klein, dressed in his probationary inspector uniform, looked at the overgrown garden and the walls covered in climbing plants. He tilted his head in slight shock.
"My combat instructor lives here?"
A combatant handpicked by the Nighthawks should definitely be outstanding...
Leonard Mitchell, who had brought him here, let out a low laugh.
"Don't look down on Mr. Gowen just because of where he lives. Although he never received a title, he was once a true knight."
Having said that, this Nighthawk with a poet's temperament, casually dressed in a white shirt, black trousers, and button-less leather boots, suddenly became filled with melancholy. "He was active during the last glorious era of knights. Those warriors in breastplates would charge madly at rows of muskets and cannons, shattering their opponents and crushing their lines. But unfortunately, they soon faced the invention and deployment of high-pressure steam rifles and six-barreled machine guns. From then on, knights gradually withdrew from the stage of history."
"Mr. Gowen was the same. Over twenty years ago, the Ahova Knights he belonged to encountered an army from the Republic of Intis that wielded the most advanced weapons... Sigh, whenever I think about this, I feel as if I am touching the dust of history, shaken by this irreversible vicissitude and fate. Poems brew and surge in my heart, but unfortunately, I don't know how to write them."
...Then why say so much? Klein pretended not to hear Leonard's self-deprecation and seriously suggested, "My college classmate told me that writing poetry requires a lot of talent. It's best to start by reading the Collection of Loen's Early Classical Poetry."
Leonard's mood changed in an instant. He picked up the cue lightly and cheerfully, "I've already bought that collection of poems, and also books like Selected Poems of Roselle. I will work hard to become a Midnight Poet, Mr. Seer."
Was this hinting at the Acting Method? Klein replied as if he hadn't understood a thing, "Then you'll need books on grammar as well."
"Alright, let's go in." Leonard pushed open the half-closed iron gate and walked towards the house along a path wide enough for two people.
Before they got close, Klein saw the front door wide open. A tall man came out from inside.
His blonde hair was very short, and his temples had turned white. The skin on his face bore the marks of wind and frost. His forehead wrinkles, crow's feet, and nasolabial folds were deep and obvious.
"What are you doing here?" the middle-aged man asked in a deep voice.
"Mr. Gowen, according to the contract you signed with the police department, this probationary inspector of ours will be learning combat techniques from you," Leonard explained with a smile.
"Combat? The current era doesn't need hand-to-hand combat." Gowen looked at Klein with slightly cloudy eyes and said in a lifeless tone, "You should practice drawing your gun and shooting. Master the most advanced weapons."
Was he traumatized by the six-barreled machine guns and high-pressure steam rifles? Klein didn't respond rashly. He turned his head to look at Leonard in amusement.
"For police officers, combat is still a necessary subject. Most of the criminals we face aren't demons that must be executed immediately. They might not even have weapons. In such situations, combat skills are needed," Leonard said as if he had prepared for this.
Gowen gloomily fell silent for over ten seconds. "Try throwing a punch."
He was speaking to Klein.
Klein, who wasn't holding his cane, recalled the boxing matches he'd watched in his previous life. He raised his arm and swung it forward.
Gowen's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. After a moment's thought, he said, "Kick."
Klein shifted his body sideways, swung his hips, tensed his thigh, and lashed out with his right foot.
"Ahem..." Gowen covered his mouth with his hand and coughed twice. He looked at Leonard and said, "I'll abide by the contract. But given his current state, for the first month, he only needs to come four times a week, three hours each time."
"You're the combat expert. You decide." Leonard nodded without hesitation. He smiled at Klein. "See you at dinner."
After he had walked out of the iron gate, Klein asked curiously, "Teacher, where should I start? Throwing punches, or footwork?"
As a qualified keyboard warrior, he knew that footwork in combat was equally important.
Gowen's hands hung by his sides. He shook his head with a heavy air of decay. "What you need most right now is strength training."
"See over there? There are two iron dumbbells. They'll be your companions for today."
"Besides that, you need to practice squats, running, and jump rope. We'll do them in sets."
While Klein was still stunned, Gowen's voice suddenly boomed. "Understand?!"
"Yes!" At that moment, Klein felt as if he were back in military training, facing a merciless instructor.
"Go change your clothes first. There's a knight's training uniform on the sofa." Gowen suddenly sighed, turned around with his hands behind his back, and walked towards the pair of black iron dumbbells.
........
At six in the evening, in a corner of the Old Weir Restaurant.
Except for Frye, who was on duty at the Chanis Gate, all members of the Blackthorn Security Company were present, a total of six Nighthawks and five office workers.
The white tablecloth lay quietly spread over the long table. The waiters brought plate after plate of food. They cut them up first before serving them to each guest.
Klein saw the steak drizzled with black pepper sauce, the bacon, the sausages paired with mashed potatoes, the egg custard, the aloe vera, the special cheese, the amber champagne... But he had no appetite at all. The afternoon's training had almost made him throw up.