At two in the afternoon, in the outskirts of the northern district, outside a two-story house with a rustic, weathered appearance. Wearing a uniform of a junior inspector, Caine glanced at the overgrown garden and walls covered in climbing plants, then turned slightly, surprised: "My combat instructor lives here?" Surely someone selected by the Night Watch team should be exceptional—after all, one would expect that. Leonard Mitchell, who had led him there, chuckled lightly: "Don't underestimate Mr. Gavyn simply because of his living conditions. Though he ultimately didn't attain a noble title, he was once a true knight." "Speaking of this, this night-wanderer with a casual white shirt, black trousers, and untucked leather boots suddenly becomes deeply moved: 'He flourished during the final golden age of the knights, when armored warriors charged wildly against rows of muskets and cannons, breaking their enemies' lines and trampling the formations. Yet soon after, high-pressure steam rifles and six-barreled machine guns were developed and introduced, and the knights gradually stepped out of the spotlight.' 'Sir Gawain is no different—he was part of the Ahovah Knights, who faced off against the Intis Republic's army equipped with the most advanced weaponry... Ah, every time I think of these things, I feel as though I'm touching the dust of history, struck by an unyielding sense of timelessness and fate, and a poem begins to stir and surge within me. Yet, I never write poetry.' ...Then, what good is all this, do you think?" Klein pretended not to catch Leonard's self-deprecating remark, and spoke seriously and seriously: "My university classmate told me that writing poetry requires great talent, and that one should begin by reading the *Early Classical Poems of Run*." Leonard's mood shifted instantly, and he interjected with ease: "I've already purchased that poetry collection, as well as *The Selected Poems of Roselle*. I'm determined to become a midnight poet, Mr. Seer." This was a hint... a performance? Klein responded as though he had heard nothing: "Then you'll still need some books on grammar." "Very well, let's go in." Leonard reached out and pushed open the half-closed iron gate, walking along the path wide enough for two people to walk side by side toward the house. Before they even reached it, Klein spotted the main door ajar, and a tall man stepped out from inside the house. His hair was short, with whitening temples, and his skin bore the marks of weathering—deep, distinct forehead lines, fish-eye wrinkles, and nasolabial folds. " What are you two doing here?" the middle-aged man asked in a steady tone. "Mr. Gavyn, under the agreement you signed with the Police Headquarters, our junior inspector will be studying combat techniques under your guidance," Leonard smiled and explained. "Combat? In today's era, combat skills are no longer necessary." Gavyn looked at Kline with slightly foggy eyes, speaking in a lifeless tone. "You should focus on gun-handling and marksmanship—on mastering the latest weaponry." Has he been psychologically affected by the six-barrel machine guns and high-pressure steam rifles? Kline didn't respond hastily; instead, he glanced sideways at Leonard with a quiet smile. "To police officers, combat remains a fundamental skill. Most of the offenders we encounter aren't instant demons requiring immediate execution. Often, they don't even carry weapons—precisely when such physical skills become essential." Leonard spoke up with readiness. Gower frowned, remained silent for over a dozen seconds, then said to Caine, "Try a punch." Caine, who wasn't holding his staff, recalled boxing matches he had watched in past lives, raised his arm, and swung forward. Gower's mouth twitched slightly—just barely—and after a moment, added, "Now try a leg kick." Caine shifted his body halfway, rotated his hips, tightened his thighs, and extended his right leg. "Ah..." Gower placed his hand against his mouth, cleared his throat gently, and turned to Leonard, "I'll honor the contract. However, given Caine's condition, during the first month, he only needs to come four times a week, each session lasting three hours." "Since you're the expert in combat," Leonard nodded without hesitation, smiling warmly at Caine, "see you for dinner." Only after Gower had stepped out of the iron gate did Caine ask curiously, "Teacher, where should I begin? With the punches, or with the footwork?" As a proficient keyboard player, he knew that footwork in combat was equally important. Gavyn stood with his hands at his sides, his demeanor weary, and shook his head slowly: "Right now, what you need most is strength training." "Look over there—there are two iron dumbbells. Those will be your companions today." "In addition, you'll need to practice deep squats, running, and jumping rope, and we'll go through them one by one." As Cline stared, Gavyn suddenly raised his voice, speaking with authority: "Do you understand?" "Yes, I understand!" At that moment, Cline felt as though he had returned to military training, facing an unyielding drill instructor. "Go change into the knight's training outfit—there's one on the sofa." Gavyn sighed, turned, and walked toward the two dark iron dumbbells. ………… Six o'clock in the evening, a corner of the Old维尔 Restaurant. Besides Frey, who is on duty at the Charnel Gate, all members of Blackthorn Security are present—six night watchmen and five administrative staff. The white tablecloth lies quietly upon the long table, and the servers bring one dish after another, cutting each portion before placing it before the guests. Caine sees the ribeye steak glazed with black pepper sauce, the bacon, the sausage served with mashed potatoes, the custard, the lotus leaf, the specialty cheese, and the golden champagne—but he has no appetite, his afternoon training nearly making him vomit. Glancing at the newly appointed night watchman, pale and eyes glazed, Dune raises the glass of red wine before him, smiles, and says: "Let us welcome our new formal member, Caine Moretti. To health!" The reserved black-haired lady, Lo Yao. Laiting, the compact and vigorous "Night Watcher" Coen Li. White, the carelessly dressed, bohemian gentleman Leonard. Mitchell, and the white-haired, black-eyed "Midnight Poet" Xiga. T'ong, all raised their glasses toward the newly joined teammate. Xiga smiled and glanced at Dunn, saying, "To make your title of 'the writer' a reality, Captain, I believe you'll need to grant me a special allowance so I can cover the costs of publishing the novel myself." Dunn spread his hands and chuckled, "You should learn from old Neil—find a more compelling reason." "I truly admire Neil in this regard!" Rosan swallowed a piece of roasted lamb and enthusiastically agreed. As they chatted and laughed, Leonard glanced at Cline and smiled lightly, "Tired? Not much of an appetite? Can't seem to eat much?" "Yes," Cline sighed. "If you haven't tried it yet, I'd be happy to help." Leonard made a point of not wasting food. Cline nodded without hesitation, "Certainly." Thus, most of the food before him was eaten by Leonard and the others. By the end of dinner, the servers brought out several beef puddings and a variety of ice creams. Klein took a bite of the latter and found it cold and sweet, exceptionally appetizing. Without realizing it, he finished off his own serving of ice cream with blueberry juice. And precisely because of this, he began to feel a growing hunger, a deep longing in his heart and stomach, as if his body urgently needed replenishment after such substantial consumption. He swallowed a mouthful of saliva and looked ahead. The plates were now scattered, nearly bare. "Let's raise a toast here, one more for Klein," Dune suggested. Before he had finished speaking, Klein said, "Captain, could I have another dinner portion, please?" Upon hearing this request, everyone fell into a moment of quiet silence, then chuckled softly. "Ha! You've finally recovered—no problem, go ahead and have two more," Dune shook his head with a smile. Amid the anxious and restless wait, Klein began to hear the sounds of his stomach growling. Finally, a freshly seared piece of black pepper jus steak was brought to the table. The knife and fork danced, and克莱恩, nearly moved to tears, finished off the seven-minute-rare steak in just one minute and thirty seconds, the aroma of meat and juices lingering in his mouth. After an indeterminate length of time, gazing at the now-empty plates, he exhaled contentedly, set down his utensils, and took a sip of champagne. "Waiter, please bill us," said D'Enn, turning to the attendant beside him. The waiter first went to the front desk, then returned with a bill, explaining in detail: "You've had five bottles of Deci champagne, at 12 sou and 3 deniers each, a small glass of Southwelle red wine at 10 deniers, 12 deniers per portion of black pepper steak, 6 deniers per beef pudding, and 1 sou per serving of ice cream. The total comes to five pounds, nine sou, and six deniers." Five pounds, nine sou, and six deniers? That's about equivalent to my weekly salary! The restaurant truly costs far more than when I eat at home! Klein was left speechless, deeply grateful that the captain had mentioned they didn’t need him to pay for the meal—there was a small reserve fund and extra budget! After carefully calculating, he realized the most expensive part of the dinner was the wine—just five bottles of champagne came to just over three pounds! That wasn’t much different from what he’d expected back on Earth… Klein quietly rubbed his stomach, forcing himself to finish off the last sip of champagne. ………… The next morning, Klein woke up feeling a dull pressure in his lower abdomen. As he turned over to get out of bed, a sudden wave of muscle pain fully awakened him—he felt as though his body no longer belonged to him. “Such a familiar sensation… just like after being punished with frog jumps the day before. Today’s a rest day, yet I still have to visit my mentor and see if I can borrow that academic monograph on Honauchis Peak from the university library…” Klein’s mouth twitched slightly as he struggled to move toward the door. With every step he took, he felt the need to draw a deep, cool breath. "Caine, what's wrong with you?" Melissa glanced at her brother, who stood with an odd posture and moved slowly, as if puzzled.