The wheels pressed firmly against the tracks, the horses pulling the carriage steadily and heavily, soon leaving behind the street where nothing remarkable had ever occurred. Klein held his cane normally until the streetcar passed two stops, then got off early, taking a winding route and slowly making his way back to the site where the demon giant dog had been slain. He was not seeking to uncover the extraordinary qualities the other party had manifested—such a feat would surely have been known to the Church's foremost champions, who would have already taken it away by now. Nor was he investigating the origin of that faint exhalation from earlier—given how much time had passed, with the street bustling with carriages and pedestrians, what traces could possibly remain? Even a divination would likely yield no answers. Klein's true purpose was to examine the subtle details still lingering around the street, to gain insight into the characteristics of the seal that had created such an unusual battlefield environment, thus preparing himself for potential future encounters. That's the magician performing his act... walking beneath the gray sky, along the street bordered by gas lamps, silently sighing. He waited until two stops past his destination and took a detour to return, concerned that official extraordinary beings still in the process of clearing the battlefield might encounter him—so he made every effort to avoid any meeting. Dressed neatly, holding a cane, with a golden watch chain at his collar, Klein finally reached the scene of the "Demon Hound's death," only to find no trace of the battle on the streets, and the pedestrians clearly unaware of the intense extraordinary conflict that had once unfolded there. "That seal indeed is remarkable—more powerful than even large-scale, widespread hypnosis," Klein murmured, activating his spiritual vision and slowing his steps, as though he were a gentleman on a leisurely stroll rather than someone on a business mission. After circling the area for nearly thirty minutes, he had gained no insights from his spiritual sight—the target neighborhood showed no anomalies at all. Yet, Klein’s intuition picked up something subtle: the sense of scope and boundaries. "When I entered the neighborhood and when I exited from the opposite direction, I experienced a slight sense of unreality, as though transitioning from one world into another. That suggests the influence of the seal extends at least to one block, though the upper limit remains unclear. Moreover, I can confirm one more point—it only affects extraordinary beings." Standing just outside the street, Klein nodded thoughtfully before returning to a mid-tier café, ordered a South Wyl coffee, and settled at a window seat. As he sipped the rich, aromatic beverage, he observed the increasingly lively street scene, watching whether, over time, any further changes would emerge. Unfortunately, the things he had hoped for did not come to pass. Of course, he wasn't entirely empty-handed—he had confirmed one point: "The magician never performs without preparation" was indeed one of the rules of the game. He sensed a subtle, gentle stirring in the quiet accumulation within him. After dusk settled in, Klein ceased observing and took the streetcar back to Minsk Street. By then, the gas streetlamps along both sides of the road were all lit, casting a blue glow over the slightly damp cement pavement and the trees with yellowing, leafless branches. Holding his cane, Klein walked past the lawyer's house and made his way toward the building at number fifteen. As he walked, he suddenly remembered something: the household supplies were now depleted, and he wouldn't be able to prepare dinner on the way back! Well, should he go to the butchers, the grocery store, or the fruit shop, or should he stop at a restaurant first to have a meal? Klein hesitated, then decided to take it easy tonight and have something ready-made. Although many dishes in this world are quite simple and prepared quickly—without the need for a one-hour cooking followed by a five-minute meal—there's still a certain amount of effort involved, and one has to wash the dishes and utensils as well. Feeling his wallet, Klein turned around and headed toward the direction in his memory where there were more restaurants. He passed by Jurgen's home once again. Jurgen stood behind the open, projecting window, observing Moriati's detective with a look of bewilderment, and raised his voice: "Mr. Moriati, you—you've forgotten your keys again, haven't you? Or perhaps they've dropped?" Why say "again"? Klein chuckled in reply. "Not at all." Jurgen nodded seriously. "Then why don't you come over to my place for a visit?" "Until after dinner, when it's completely dark, I'll return." "...Klein hesitated for a moment, then smiled, saying, "It's my pleasure." When he entered, Brody, the black cat, was grooming his paws in the corner. Yuergen made no formal greetings and went straight to the kitchen. By the time Klein hung up his coat and hat, placed his black cane, and stepped carefully into the dining room, the table was already set with dark-cut steak and potato purée of the same hue. He found this nothing surprising—his grandmother, Mrs. Doris, had always cooked in this way: the presentation might not be elegant, but the food was certainly delicious. After all, she was a true chef. Klein sat across from Yuergen, smiled warmly, and asked, "Are you getting ready to eat?" "Yes, before I eat, I usually take a moment to gaze out the window and let my thoughts drift freely, without boundaries." Yuergen laid out his napkin and picked up his knife and fork. Klein glanced around, puzzled, and asked, "Where is Mrs. Doris?" Jürgen sighed and replied seriously, "The weather is getting colder, and her old lung issues have flared up again—she has to stay in the hospital for a while." "May God protect her," Klein said, a bit awkwardly, drawing the triangular holy symbol of the Steam and Mechanism Church on his chest. Then he cut a piece of steak, lifted it with his fork, and was about to take a bite. At that moment, he suddenly remembered a question and quickly asked, "So, this is the dinner you've prepared?" "Of course," Jürgen answered simply, "I finished it just a few minutes ago." Not quite the skill of Mrs. Doris, the head chef—look at the presentation. Klein's mouth twitched slightly, and though he felt a growing sense of dread, he managed to bite down on the small piece of steak held by the silver fork and chewed it slowly. His brow furrowed gradually, and finally, he forced the food down, smiling勉强ly, "Why did you prepare two portions in advance?" "One is for the hospital," Jürgen replied, "to bring to my grandmother." "Jürgen looked up at Klein and said, without any hesitation, 'I'll prepare another one later.'" "...That makes sense." For politeness, Klein took a deep breath and handled his meal with the determination of a fighter. When he finished, Jürgen had only a small portion left. The senior transaction lawyer set down his fork and knife, lifted the tall glass of red wine beside him, and sipped it calmly, asking without expression: "How do you feel?" "Which dish do you prefer?" "I know there's still a gap between my skills and my grandmother's, but I don't think it's too significant." Mr. Klein, I suspect you have a problem beyond just facial nerve dysfunction—perhaps even with your sense of taste. Can't you recognize yourself at all? Klein smiled gently, nodding slightly. "The white bread was quite good." "That was bought from a local bakery." Jürgen resumed eating, focusing once again on the remaining portion. After finishing the remaining red wine, he thought for a moment and said, "Moriati Detective, I'd like to entrust you with something—quite a simple matter." "What?" Kline kept sipping water. The potato mash had been too salty just now! "My grandmother has been staying at the hospital lately, and sometimes I may not return home due to cases. That would leave Brody hungry." Jurgen looked at the black cat. "I'd like you to take care of Brody whenever I'm away—feed it, clean its litter box, and play with it a bit. It especially loves when someone scratches its chin. Yes, every evening at ten o'clock, if my house is dark and there's no light, you can come in. Two soules each time, until my grandmother returns home." Kline noticed the gentle expression beginning to appear on Jurgen's usually stiff and serious face, and smiled slightly. "A simple task, with a fairly generous fee—I have no reason to refuse." While speaking, he turned his head to look at the black cat, Brody, and smiled at it. Brody slowly rotated her body to face away from him.克莱恩's smile froze on his face. ........ After a hearty meal,克莱恩 said his goodbyes and began to walk slowly back toward his rented apartment building on the now fully darkened street. At this hour, most people had returned home to enjoy their dinners; the streets were quiet, with few pedestrians and few carriages, and the atmosphere was serene. As he walked under the glow of gas streetlamps,克莱恩's pace grew slower, and so did the shadow of his black figure that trailed behind him. Passing by the Sommer family's house, he saw through the bulging window that the interior was bright with light, filled with figures moving about and the soft sounds of conversation and laughter drifting out. In contrast, across the way, at No. 15 on the Minsk Street, the house was dark and still.克莱恩 sighed, quickened his steps, pulled out his key, and opened the door. Before entering, he habitually checked the mailbox and found another letter lying inside. Who had sent it? Kline took the letter and glanced at it by the glow of the streetlamp. No stamp attached—the handwriting resembled that of Esengard Stanton. He nodded slightly, entered the house, closed the door, turned on the light, and began to open the letter. The serial killings have been solved, and Beckland's situation has stabilized—now he can begin to take action. For instance, he could visit the Courage Bar to meet with Caspase, reach out to Marič, and see if either of them, the extraordinary one who controls the undead, has any books on esoteric studies. If my guess is correct, they're likely exiles from the Rose School—a formally organized group before—so they should possess a wealth of esoteric knowledge. And now, I have sufficient funds to purchase them! Klein ran a hand over his wallet, feeling a growing sense of anticipation. PS: First chapter, kindly recommend a vote and a monthly subscription—today's update includes three installments!