There's a task I'd like to delegate... You've probably come to the wrong place... The name of this security company is really just a name. Hearing the visitor's words, Caine felt a surge of frustration building up inside him—only wishing there were a forum or live chat to share his thoughts. However, he quickly recalled a similar question he'd once asked. The captain had replied: if there was time, why not take it? The earnings could be set aside as a small reserve fund for the team and also serve as benefits for the participants. Rosan considered for a moment before saying, "Our security staff are all currently on duty. The fastest ones won't return until at least one hour from now. If your matter isn't urgent, we can certainly accommodate it." Among the six formal night-watch members, Captain Denny Smith had been called to the church by the bishop, presumably to discuss something, while Leonard Mitchell was on duty guarding the "Charnes Gate." Frey, the Body-Bearer, and Lo-Yao Leiting, the Night-Watcher, have moved to the Jinwutong district to assist the police in investigating a case with religious elements. Cohen Li Wei, the other Night-Watcher, is on leave, while Xigua Teon, the other Midnight Poet, has gone to the Rafael Cemetery outside the northern district for routine patrols. The remaining two extraordinary individuals—Niel, now older and weakened, having not undertaken any missions in some time, and Caine, still a novice, truly a half-baked newcomer—have both been absent. "Neither is here," said the tall, slender man with silvering hair at his temples, holding an umbrella, his face darkening as he removed his hat and bowed slightly. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience—goodbye." He turned and walked toward the door, leaving the building on the 36th street, his figure blending into the sound of the rain and the wind. "Such a pity," Rosan sighed, watching the man depart. Though she wouldn't be getting a share of the commission, there was certainly going to be a grand meal to share. "Well, the Charnes Gate must always have someone on duty," said Cline contentedly, setting down his knife, fork, and spoon. Even though he didn't particularly care for the thick soup made of cabbage and vegetables, he finished it off completely. "Do you really think we should send Bright out on a mission—or perhaps you yourself?" Rosan blinked, then laughed playfully. "Bright can't manage it, but you can, our esteemed Seer, surely?" Before she could finish, she suddenly realized her mistake and stopped mid-sentence, for the gate had not yet closed. If anyone passing by or visiting outside heard about the extraordinary events, it would be a breach of confidentiality. "Good thing the队长 isn't here..." Rosan glanced toward the doorway, then sighed quietly. "Otherwise, I'd have to go and apologize again!" Both Bright and Cline burst into laughter, exchanged a glance, and then began clearing the table. With all this arranged, the rain persisted unabated, so Klein, without a umbrella, decided to stay at Blackthorn Security. He took a newspaper, settled onto the soft, springy sofa, and leisurely began his "lunch break." "The aerial route between Beckland and Dizzy Bay has just launched..." "Agatha Mansfield's case files have been compiled and are set for publication..." "What about G.G. at Lorglas Weapons?" Take a standard six-shot revolver, three pounds ten shillings, and a pair of hunting breech-loading guns weighing two pounds... As Klein flipped through the pages of the "Tingenthaler Honest Man's Gazette," he suddenly came across a news item: "The perpetrators responsible for the murders of Mr. Welch and Miss Naya have all been apprehended. The widespread panic affecting the northern, Golden Pheasant, and eastern districts is expected to ease significantly. Mr. Maggwen, Welch's father and a banker, has returned to Conston City with the body of his youngest son, and a formal funeral is scheduled." After reading it several times, Klein sighed: It seemed that Mr. Welch's father had now come to believe the police's account and had not hired a private detective to conduct further investigations. He must not be feeling the same depth of grief as my parents did when they lost their only child. His mood suddenly dimmed, and Klein sat quietly, motionless for a long time. As for the fact that neither Welch nor Naya had been invited to their own funerals, he found it entirely natural and didn't feel the slightest disappointment. He would simply wait until everything settled down, then find an opportunity to leave a bouquet at their graves. While克莱恩was about to take a short nap in the lounge, the reception hall door was suddenly knocked again. "Please come in," Rosan stirred slightly, her eyes instantly clearing. The door, only half-open, was pushed aside, and the same tall, slender man in a formal suit, with white hair at his temples, entered once more. "Could I wait here for a while? I believe your guards—or security staff—should be returning shortly, right?" He tried to conceal his anxiety, speaking with genuine sincerity. "Certainly. Please sit down there for a while," Rosan indicated the sofa beside her.克莱恩, on the other hand, was curious and asked, "How did you hear about our security company? Who introduced you?" Especially considering the back-and-forth journey during the heavy rain in the middle of the day, and the willingness to wait? Well, it must be that the night watch team members have effortlessly handled what others see as difficult assignments, building up considerable reputation over the years... The tall, slender man leaned his umbrella against the door, walked toward the sofa, and offered a苦笑: "I've visited every mercenary, er, security firm, and private detective in the surrounding streets—only your place still holds promise. They're completely overwhelmed and have no capacity to take on other assignments. To be honest, I didn't even realize there was a security company here until I met a delivery service staff member." The Hauls district...a home invasion murder case...well, unfortunately, I'm one of the victims. Kline nodded slightly, with a sense of weight: "Yes." "Due to the perpetrators' brutality and ferocity, even the wealthy residents of neighboring districts, and indeed the entire city of Tingen, have grown fearful. They've not only bolstered their own security staff but have also hired numerous additional security personnel and private investigators, resulting in a noticeable shortage in the industry." The tall, slim man responded clearly and logically. A classic chain reaction—Kline and Rosan exchanged glances, both seeing a touch of self-mockery on the other's face. The security industry is entering its golden age, yet Black Thorns has felt absolutely nothing from it—clear evidence of how poorly the company has performed. Indeed, in a way, this also underscores the quiet success of the Watchers' team. After waiting another twenty minutes or so, as the heavy rain began to ease, Kline prepared to leave and head to the "Shooting Club" to practice with his revolver. At that moment, Leonard Mitchell, with black hair and green eyes, stepped out from behind the partition and glanced curiously toward the sofa area. "Who is this?" "Is the client here? Has the captain returned?" Rosan asked with delight. "Returned?" The tall, slender man was taken aback. He had been sitting right here, staring at the door—how had he failed to notice anyone returning? Rosan's expression instantly froze, and she quickly smiled warmly. "As a security company, we don't just have one main entrance." "Understood," the tall man nodded, suddenly clear. As for the title "captain," he found it entirely natural—security firms often evolved from small mercenary units or guilds, where a "captain" was a common and expected role. Leonard's white shirt was loose, his black jacket casually draped over his shoulders. He glanced at the tall man and then tapped his finger sharply. "I'm a security officer with Black Thorns. What's your name? What would you like to commission?" Perhaps you've heard of the mercenaries' free-spirited nature. The tall, slender man didn't seem troubled by the slight offense; instead, he exhaled in relief. Watching Leonard sit down, he composed himself and said: "My name is Keli. I'm the steward of Mr. Vicrole, the tobacco merchant. His only son, young Elliott, was kidnapped this morning. We've already reported the incident and received adequate attention, but Mr. Vicrole remains unconvinced. He would like to rely on your mercenaries—well, your security personnel—and on your knowledge of Tinggen to conduct an investigation from a different angle, ensuring the safe recovery of young Elliott." "If you can locate the hideout of the kidnappers, Mr. Vicrole is willing to pay 100 pounds. Should you successfully recover young Elliott, he will double the amount to 200 pounds, paid in full." Leonard Mitchell smiled calmly and remarked: "Does Mr. Vicrole merely hope we can find the kidnappers' hideout?" Otherwise, they wouldn't think his only son worth merely 100 pounds, and a tobacco merchant closely tied to the southern plantations wouldn't be able to raise just 200 pounds. "No, Mr. Wicker is merely an ordinary merchant, not a wealthy man, and he believes the police department is far more professional when it comes to handling rescue operations," replied the elderly housekeeper, Cleet. "Very well, that will do," Leonard tapped his fingers again. With his emerald eyes fixed on Rosan, he said, "Miss, could you please draft a contract?" "Stop always acting like a poet—you're merely reciting someone else's verses," Rosan remarked, accustomed to their mutual jabs, and momentarily forgetting there were guests present. Of course, Blackthorn Security wouldn't care much about the client—whether excellent or not, it made no difference at all. Rosan left the reception desk and entered the office of the clerical staff, where the sound of tapping keys immediately began. Cline couldn't help but draw a slight smile at the corners of his mouth, finding them utterly unprofessional. No standard, ready-made contract at all! "This truly is a sad matter..." "And even more sad, I find myself in such an unprofessional company." While pondering these thoughts, Rona drafted a concise agreement with only a few clauses, and had the butler, Criel, and Leonard Mitchell sign it. Once Criel had affixed the seal, she took the contract into the accounting room to obtain the official seal of "Blackthorn Security Company"—a seal that, in practice, held little weight, as Dunn usually entrusted it to Mrs. Oliviana, handing it over to Roshan and the others only on Sundays. "Expect your good news," Criel said, taking one of the contracts, rising to his feet, and bowing slightly. Leonard remained silent, thoughtfully, for about fifteen seconds before suddenly turning to Caine and offering a smile. "I'll need your assistance," he said. "Ah?" Caine was momentarily stunned. "My point is, this task is something we'll tackle together." Leonard explained with a slight upward curve to his lips. "I'm skilled in combat, shooting, climbing, sensing, and singing—plus a few auxiliary tasks—but not in finding people. You wouldn't want old Neil stepping out in this weather, would you?" His voice became hazy when he mentioned "sensing," making it nearly impossible to understand. "Well," Kline felt a strong urge to try out his new "skills," yet he also harbored a touch of caution toward Leonard Mitchell. Taking a deep breath, he hoped everything would go smoothly... wondering just how much his "seer" abilities could contribute. He thought this with a hint of anticipation.