After lunch, once he had filled his stomach, Kline only rested for about half an hour before rushing off to the shooting club to practice firearms, never letting his guard down. Under the consistent feeding of thousands of rounds and day after day of steadfast effort, his shooting skills had finally reached the passing level that Dunn Smith considered acceptable, especially with stationary targets. After repeatedly practicing the same mechanical routines, he secured his revolver and took the streetcar to the neighborhood near his combat instructor, Gowan’s residence, walking for ten minutes to reach the entrance of the building. Then, he changed into the freshly sun-dried knight’s practice attire and trained continuously through running, jumping rope, weightlifting, and squats, until his steps and punches were refined, his body drenched in sweat and exhausted. "Rest for fifteen minutes," Gowan said, pulling out his watch, tapping it once, and glancing at the time. Since the beginning, he had remained silent, only offering brief remarks when it came time to change training methods or when Kline’s movements were inconsistent. Klein breathed heavily, unwilling to rest immediately, and began walking slowly back and forth—during this period of sparring practice, the most noticeable change on his body was a deeper skin tone, turning into what is known as a wheat-colored hue. Gwen set down his watch and stood beside the rugged practice field at the back of the house, arms crossed, observing Klein relax with quiet stillness, as if carved from marble. "Master, besides hand-to-hand combat, will you also teach me to use the longsword, the greatsword, the lance, and the spear?" Klein, now feeling refreshed after absorbing the "seer's" potion, asked spontaneously. He had seen these weapons—the longsword, the spear—as well as breastplates and full armor in Gwen's collection room, knowing that his teacher was not only skilled in unarmed combat. Wen, bathed in sunlight, glanced at him and said in a low, resonant voice: "What you've learned holds no practical value—it's all outdated, things that will eventually reside only in museums and private collections..." He paused for a few seconds, then added, in a weathered tone, "They've been phased out. What you should value is firearms. Even in close combat, it's merely supplementary." Kline looked at the seasoned, somber combat instructor and smiled. "I don't believe that." "All ministers, all legislators, all generals believe that," Wen said, his voice firm, almost strained. Kline stopped walking, pretending to be typing, speaking with the confident ease of a true keyboard master: "No—combat has simply stepped back from the frontline. It still has other roles." "Why must combat be in opposition to firearms?" They could certainly be integrated together. I believe that those who are more flexible, agile, and responsive will better harness the potential of firearms." Noticing the sharpness that suddenly appeared in Gavyn's eyes, Cline continued with a touch of pride: "Other weapons haven't been phased out either—only adapted with certain improvements to make them more portable..." "We could organize a highly mobile unit, bypassing the main battlefield and striking directly at the enemy's rear, at their central command. In such small-scale ambush operations, soldiers with exceptional close-combat skills and proficiency in various weapons play a crucial role—imagine such a scenario..." Drawing upon his broad, albeit somewhat haphazard, knowledge of special forces combat tactics on Earth, he described the situation in a way that blended various elements together. Gavyn's breathing had grown heavier without him realizing it; he stood there motionless, as though unwilling to break the imagined scene. Klein glanced at the man's reaction, gave a quiet chuckle to himself, cleared his throat, and spoke with composed dignity: "Teacher, what do you think of my idea? Is it feasible?" Gawain's body visibly trembled, as if finally awakening from a dream. He stared deeply at Klein and spoke in a low, steady tone: "Your recovery is excellent. Now, redo all the previous exercises ten times." "Ah?" Klein looked utterly bewildered. Soon, as he began running again, he realized what was happening and mentally screamed in desperation: Ten sets? Teacher, no way! I don't want to celebrate my complete absorption of the Seer's potion this way! Wait—do you not feel anything at all? ... Watching Klein run toward the other side of the training field, Gawain suddenly loosened his clasped hands and covered his face with one palm. His eyes were tightly shut, his forehead deeply lined and clearly visible. …...Once again nearly collapsing from exhaustion, Caine took a shower, changed into his clothes, and said goodbye to the still silent combat instructor, Gower, before boarding a public carriage that took him away from their residence. He didn't head straight home but instead made his way to the Dragon's Tavern in the dock district, intending to explore the underground market to learn the current prices of extraordinary materials and purchase supplies needed for crafting sigils. Along the way, mindful of his small traveling fund, he held himself awake, struggling through the journey until he finally reached his destination. "I need to leave a final payment of four pounds for the commission—I can only draw upon three pounds and five shillings," he murmured, running his fingers over the bills in his pocket, then holding his cane as he stepped out of the carriage. At that moment, the sun had begun to set, and the golden hues of dusk bathed every building. The "boxing" and "mouse-catching" matches inside the Dragon's Tavern were getting underway. Passing through the billiards room and through one after another of the rooms, Caine entered the underground market. He glanced around, but didn't spot Admíssor—the "monstrous" figure who was always active here. "Niel didn't say that the 'monsters' could only survive thanks to Svaine, the owner of the Dragon's Brew, who provided them with food and shelter?" Klein murmured to himself, slightly puzzled. As a night watcher, he was naturally vigilant about such matters. He approached the burly man stationed by the door and asked, "Where is Admíssor?" The man replied without a smile, "I don't know where he's hiding—always sleeping in some corner, lately. He just lies there trembling, constantly shouting, 'Dead! Dead! All of them are dead! All of them are going to die!'" What had he seen? What had startled him? Klein furrowed his brows, asking several follow-up questions to learn where exactly Admíssor was sleeping, but the guard remained uncertain. "Once I finish my current tasks, I'll use divination to locate him and find out exactly what has befallen him..." Klein jotted down the matter and stepped toward one of the two rooms at the far end of the marketplace. As old Neil had explained, the room on the left was used for lending and repayment, while the one on the right served as a venue for buying and selling precious items, including extraordinary materials. Upon opening the door to the room on the right, Klein found it divided into an inner and outer space, with three customers waiting in the outer area. He slightly lowered his high silk hat, took his seat behind the three customers in turn, leaned forward, held his cane, and remained silent, waiting. Not long after, the partition door opened, and a customer dressed in blue-gray dockworker attire stepped out, bowed his head, and hurried away without pausing. Klein lightly tapped his left teeth twice, used his "clairvoyance" to observe the departing customer and glanced at the other three patrons, finding nothing particularly unusual—though, of course, a few minor ailments were evident. Another ten or so minutes passed before it was finally his turn. He opened the door separating the two rooms and stepped into the inner room, where kerosene lamps were lit. After locking the door behind him, he sat down in the chair reserved for customers and looked across at the elderly man wearing a soft black hat. "I'd like to know what extraordinary materials you have available, and their respective prices," he said. The older man had drooping facial muscles and deep lines around his eyes, yet he was quite sturdy in build. He found克莱恩's request quite natural, as many customers were reluctant to reveal what they were looking for until they had confirmed the availability of a particular extraordinary material—typically, they preferred to present a full overview. The elder flipped to the latest pages of his notebook, glanced at Crane, took a sip of the honey wine placed before him, and said: "A water spirit's brain tissue ranges from three to fifteen pounds depending on its integrity; star crystals at fifteen pounds per fifty grams; a queen bee grass plant at two hundred pounds; an adult black-spotted frog at one hundred seventy pounds each... a face rose, at two hundred and eighty pounds—only one." Crane managed to keep his emotions steady, listening quietly as the elder described the offerings. Yet, such an underground trade involved no more than thirty extraordinary materials. He ran his fingers over the seven-pound bill in his pocket, then thought again about Miss Justice's stance on one thousand pounds, and quietly rose, sighing, "I'm sorry, but I don't have what I'm looking for." Without waiting for the elder to ask, he turned swiftly, opened the door separating the room, and stepped out. Back at the underground marketplace, Kline stared ahead, standing there for several seconds, then sighed with a quiet sense of resignation: "I must be the poorest boss of a secret organization." This solidified his determination to source materials directly from within the Watchers or to trade with Justice and The Hanged Man. After circling the marketplace several times, Kline selected and purchased materials needed for crafting spells—such as half-finished silver sheets, herb powders, and natural minerals—totaling one pound and fifteen shillings. His personal savings amounted to five pounds and ten shillings, and after deducting the final commission, he had one pound and ten shillings left. Kline quietly calculated his financial situation, feeling a growing sense of helplessness. Of course, he was well aware that this was simply due to the fact that he had only been working for just over a month. If he looked at the picture over a full year, he knew he could still accumulate well over a hundred pounds. "In another two weeks, I'll have to tell Bensin and Melissa that my salary has increased by three pounds—enough to hire a part-time housemaid. Then I'll have no savings at all..." Cline thought as he walked toward the main entrance of the underground market. At that moment, he spotted Elder Neil, dressed in a black classical robe, entering slowly. "Everything purchased?" Elder Neil greeted him with a cheerful smile. "Yes," Cline replied calmly. Elder Neil immediately remarked, "You came quite early." "That's because I'm still hungry, while you've already had dinner," Cline said casually as he exchanged greetings with Elder Neil. A few moments later, Sven, the owner of the Dragon's Beer Hall dressed in a naval officer's uniform, entered from outside, approaching them with a serious expression and lowering his voice. "I need your help," he said. "What's happened?" Elder Neil instantly grew serious, and Cline couldn't help but feel his heart lift. Sviin, with his brown hair messy and a strong aroma of wine on him, replied in a low voice: "One member of the 'Penalty Bearer' squad has lost control nearby. We must act before he causes harm to ordinary civilians!"