Wandering along Zothlan Street, the warm, humid breeze brushing against him, Klein suddenly recalled something: he had only three pence left in his pocket. To take the public horse carriage back to the Iron Cross Street would cost four pence, and to pay with a gold pound note—having to give change—felt as awkward as if he were back in his own time, trying to buy a bottle of cheap mineral water with a hundred-dollar bill, something he simply couldn’t bring himself to do. "Three pence for three kilometers, then walk the rest?" Klein inserted one hand into his coat pocket, slowed his pace, and considered other options. "No!" He quickly dismissed that idea. Walking the remaining distance would take a considerable amount of time, and with twelve pounds in his possession—what he considered a substantial sum—it would be far too risky. Moreover, he had previously worried that the night watchmen might seize his revolver, so he had deliberately left it at home. If any new danger arose—something like the death of Welche—his only recourse would be to simply stand and endure. "Perhaps I should find a bank nearby and exchange my money for smaller denominations?" No, absolutely not—the 0.5% service fee is too extravagant! Claryn shook his head silently, already feeling pained just thinking about the potential fees. One by one, options were eliminated, and then suddenly, Claryn had a bright idea—he spotted the clothing store! Of course—the most straightforward approach is to buy items within your budget and receive change. Suits, shirts, vests, trousers, leather boots, and a walking cane—all well within his budget. Whether he buys now or later, he’ll have to purchase them all! Well, trying on clothes is quite a hassle, and Bensen knows the store better and is more skilled at haggling—he could wait for him to return before making a decision. What about a walking cane? That’s a great idea! There’s a saying: a walking cane is a gentleman’s finest defense, capable of serving as a half-cane, and the civilized man’s ideal combat stance is one hand with a weapon and the other with a cane! As thoughts flowed through him, Claryn made up his mind, half-turned, and stepped into the "Wilkler Clothing Store." The layout of the store was very much like the one he had passed before—a row of formal wear along the left wall, shirts, pants, vests, and ties arranged in the center, and a display of leather shoes and boots in glass cases on the right side. "Mr. Could I ask what would you like to purchase?" a male attendant in a white shirt and red vest approached politely. In the Kingdom of Roon, where the gentlemen of status, influence, and wealth consistently wear plain white shirts, black vests, black trousers, and black formal attire—resulting in a rather monotonous color palette—male servants, staff, and waiters are expected to wear vibrant, colorful, or varied outfits to distinguish themselves from the elite. In contrast, the ladies and young ladies wear richly varied hues and elaborate designs, while the female servants are limited to black and white combinations. Facing the attendant's inquiry, Caine paused and replied, "A walking stick—solid, sturdy, one that could knock someone's dog's head off!" The staff member in the red jacket discreetly glanced at Caine, then guided him into the store and pointed to a row of canes in the corner. "The one set with gold inlay is made of ironheart wood—it's heavy and solid. At eleven souls and seven pence, would you like to try it?" Eleven souls and seven pence? How come you don't just take it yourselves? Isn't a little gold worth something? Caine was taken aback by the price. On the surface, he remained composed, giving a slight nod. "Certainly." The red-jacketed staff member carefully removed the ironheart wood cane and handed it to Caine, as if afraid he might break it. As soon as Caine took the cane, he felt its weight and tried to move it—quickly realizing he couldn't manage a smooth, fluid motion. "It's too heavy," Caine shook his head, exhaling in relief. That wasn't an excuse at all! The red-jacketed attendant returned the ironheart wooden cane and then pointed to three others in turn: "This one is hickory, crafted by Mr. Hesse, the most renowned cane maker in Tingen—ten sou and three pence... This one is sandalwood, silver-inlaid, as hard as steel—seven sou and six pence... This one is made from the heartwood of white birch, also silver-inlaid—seven sou and ten pence..." Klein took each one in turn, testing the weight and finding them all well-balanced. He then gently tapped each cane with his finger to assess their hardness, and finally selected the most economical one. "Then I'll take the sandalwood one," he said, pointing to the silver-inlaid handle currently in the red-jacketed attendant's hands. "Very good, sir. Please follow me to the counter to complete your payment. Should this cane become worn or stained at any time, we will be happy to attend to it at no charge." The red-jacketed attendant guided Klein toward the counter. Klein took this opportunity to unfold the four gold pounds he was holding in his palm and selected one of the smaller two. "Good afternoon, seven shillings and six pence," the clerk behind the counter smiled and bowed. Klein had intended to maintain his gentlemanly composure, but as he extended his left hand with the gold pound note, he couldn't help but speak: "Could we possibly get a little discount?" "Sir, these are all hand-made," the red-jacketed clerk replied beside him, "and our costs are quite high. Moreover, the store owner is currently away, so we're not authorized to offer a reduction." The clerk behind the counter added: "Sir, I'm truly sorry." "Very well," Klein said, handing over the note and receiving in return a black cane with a silver inlay from the red-jacketed clerk. During the brief pause while waiting for change, he stepped back a few paces, pulled away slightly, and gently tested the effect of his "assistant weapon." Hoo! Hoo! Hoo! The wind was heavy and the sound of the cane striking the air was distinct and resonant. Klein nodded in satisfaction. He redirected his gaze toward the front, preparing to see bills and coins, only to be startled to find the red-vested staff member retreating steadily, while the one behind the counter had pulled herself to the corner, pressing closely against the wall-mounted double-barreled hunting rifle. The Kingdom of Luon implements a partial regulation on firearms: to hold a gun, one must apply for either a "General Weapon Usage Certificate" or a "Hunting Certificate." However, regardless of the type obtained, one cannot possess military-controlled items such as breech-loading rifles, steam-powered high-pressure guns, or six-barreled machine guns. The Certificate of All-Class Weapon Usage can be purchased and retained for any civilian firearm at one's convenience, though obtaining it is extremely cumbersome—even established merchants may fail the review. In contrast, the Hunting Certificate is relatively straightforward, even accessible to rural farmers, though it is limited to hunting rifles and comes with quantity caps. Many with modest assets apply for one as a safety measure in times of crisis, such as now... He paused for two seconds, ignoring the store clerk's gaze, and one by one, held each of the four banknotes up to the bright light to verify the security patterns and watermark. Only then did he place the bills and coins neatly aside, took his cane, adjusted his hat, and stepped out of "Wilkerson's Hat and Coat Store" like a gentleman. He boarded a nearby horse-drawn public carriage with no tracks, changed lines once, and spent a total of six pence, arriving back at his apartment with ease. After closing the door, he counted the £11 12 shillings note three times before placing it in the drawer of his desk. Then he retrieved the gun—copper-colored barrel, wooden handle. Tink-tink-tink-tink-tink! Five yellow-copper bullets successively landed on the desk, and one by one, he inserted the silver "Sorcerer's Bullets," each bearing intricate designs and the dark sigil of the Saint, into the revolving cylinder. Likewise, he inserted only five, leaving room for safety in case of accidental discharge, and stored the remaining five—along with the five he had taken out earlier—in a small iron box. Click! As the revolving doors closed, Klein suddenly felt a great deal more secure. With enthusiasm, he slipped the revolver into his armpit holster, fastened it securely, and then practiced the action of unfastening and drawing the gun repeatedly, pausing to rest his arms whenever they grew weary, continuing until dusk fell and the sounds of tenants moving through the hall began. Exhaling a deep, labored breath, Klein repositioned the revolver back into his armpit holster. Only then did he remove his formal suit and waistcoat, don his everyday brown-yellow coat, and begin gentle arm stretches. Steps approached, the sound of a key being inserted and turned in the lock. Melissa, her hair flowing smoothly, stepped inside, her nose subtly twitching as she glanced at the stove, which remained unlit—her expression dimmed slightly. "Klein, I'll cook up the remaining ingredients from last night," she said, turning to look at her brother. Klein folded his hands in his pockets, leaning his thighs against the edge of the desk, and smiled. "No, let's go out to dinner." "Out to dinner?" Melissa stared in surprise. "How about the Silver Crown Restaurant on the Waterlily Street? I heard the food is excellent," Klein suggested. "But—but..." Melissa still couldn't quite grasp what was happening. Klein chuckled. "To celebrate finding a job." "Found a job?" Melissa's voice grew louder than usual. "But—the interview at Tinggen University isn't tomorrow?" "Another job," Klein smiled, pulling out the stack of banknotes from his drawer. "They've even advanced me four weeks' salary." Melissa stared at the golden pounds and soules, her eyes wide. "My goddess... You? Them? What job have you found?" "That... Caine paused, weighing his words. "A security company dedicated to the search, collection, and preservation of antiquities— they need professional consultants, a five-year contract, three pounds per week." "...Were you worrying about this last night?" Melissa asked, after a moment of silence. Caine nodded in agreement. "Yes. Being a lecturer at Tingg University is more respectable, but I actually prefer this position." "...It's actually quite good," Melissa replied, offering an encouraging smile, half-confused, half-curious. "How did they manage to advance you four weeks' salary in advance?" "Because we need to move, we need more rooms, and we need our own bathroom," Caine said, lifting his hands with a warm smile. He felt his smile was flawless, only needing to add, "Surprised?" Melissa paused, then spoke quickly, slightly hurried: "Clayton, we're actually doing quite well. My occasional complaints about not having our own bathroom are just habit. Do you remember Jenny? She used to live next door. After her father got injured and lost his job, she had to move down the street. Now, the whole family of five shares one room—three sleep on the upper and lower beds, and two on the floor. They even thought about renting out the remaining floor bed to someone else..." "Compared to her family, we're really fortunate. Don't waste your salary on this matter. And I really like Mrs. Slin's bakery." Sister, your reaction is completely different from what I expected... Clayton listened, utterly stunned.