Walking along Zouteland Street in the warm, humid breeze, a high-spirited Klein suddenly thought of something:
He only had three pence in change left on him, while the public carriage back to Iron Cross Street cost four pence. Handing over a one-pound note for change would be like buying a bottle of cheap mineral water with a hundred-yuan note before his transmigration. It was not as though he had no other options; he simply could not bring himself to do it.
"Pay three pence to ride three kilometers, then walk the rest?" With one hand in his pocket, Klein slowed his steps and considered other options.
"No!" He soon rejected that first idea.
Walking the remaining distance would take quite a while. With the "enormous sum" of twelve pounds on him, it was far too unsafe!
Moreover, worried that the Nighthawks might confiscate his revolver, he had deliberately left it behind today. If he really encountered any danger arising from Welch's death, he would have no means of resisting!
"Find a bank nearby and change the notes? No, that won't do. A fee of half a percent is too extravagant!" Klein shook his head silently. Just thinking about the fee he might have to pay made his heart ache!
As he ruled out one option after another, Klein's eyes suddenly lit up. He had spotted a clothing store!
Right, wasn't the most natural approach to buy something at a suitable price and get change?
Formal attire, shirts, waistcoats, trousers, leather boots, and a cane were all in his budget. Sooner or later, he had to buy them!
Hmm, trying on clothes is a hassle, and Benson knows more about them than I do. He's better at bargaining, too. That can wait until he gets back...
Then how about buying a cane?
Not bad! As the proverb goes, a cane is a gentleman's best weapon for self-defense. It can even serve as half a crowbar. A gun in one hand and a cane in the other-that's how civilized people fight!
Amid these thoughts, Klein made up his mind, turned, and headed into the Vircuel Clothing Store.
The clothing store's layout was much like those from before his transmigration. A row of formal suits lined the wall on the left, shirts, trousers, waistcoats, ties, and other items occupied the middle, and pairs of leather shoes and boots sat in glass cabinets on the right.
"Sir, what would you like to buy?" A male shop assistant in a white shirt and red waistcoat approached and asked politely.
In the Kingdom of Loen, gentlemen with status, power, and wealth favored white shirts, black waistcoats, black trousers, and black formal coats, a rather monotonous palette. Male servants, shop assistants, and waiters were therefore required to wear bright or varied colors to distinguish masters from servants, or those of high standing from those of low standing.
By contrast, ladies and young misses wore dresses in various colors with lavish decorations, while maids could only wear black with white, or white with black.
In response to the male shop assistant's question, Klein thought for a moment and said:
"A cane. Something heavier and harder."
The kind that could smash someone's head in!
The assistant in the red waistcoat discreetly sized Klein up, led him inside, and pointed to a row of canes in the corner.
"The one inlaid with gold is made of ironheart wood. It's very heavy and very hard. Eleven soli and seven pence. Would you like to try it?"
Eleven soli and seven pence? Why don't you just rob people? What's so great about a little gold inlay? The price gave Klein a fright.
Outwardly, he remained composed and nodded slightly.
"All right."
The red-waistcoated assistant took down the ironheart cane and handed it carefully to Klein, looking as though he feared Klein might drop and damage the merchandise.
The moment Klein took the cane, he felt its weight. He tried moving it and discovered that he could not possibly swing it freely.
"Too heavy." Klein shook his head and breathed a sigh of relief.
That was no excuse!
The red-waistcoated assistant put the ironheart cane back, then pointed to three others in turn.
"This one is walnut, made by Mr. Hays, Tingen's most famous cane craftsman. Ten soli and three pence... This one is water-sunken wood, inlaid with silver, and as hard as steel. Seven soli and six pence... This one is made from the heartwood of a white Boli tree, also inlaid with silver. Seven soli and ten pence..."
Klein took each one and tried it, finding their weights quite suitable. Then he tapped them with a bent finger, roughly gauging each cane's hardness. In the end, he chose the cheapest one.
"I'll take the water-sunken wood one." Klein pointed to the silver-inlaid handle held by the red-waistcoated assistant.
"Certainly, sir. Please follow me over there to pay. If this cane becomes worn or stained in the future, you can bring it to us, and we'll take care of it for you free of charge." The red-waistcoated assistant led Klein toward the counter.
Klein took the opportunity to unfold the four pound notes clenched in his palm and take out one of the two smaller-denomination notes.
"Hello, seven soli and six pence." The assistant behind the counter greeted him with a smile and a bow.
Klein had intended to maintain a gentleman's dignity, but as he extended his left hand holding the one-pound note, he still could not help asking:
"Could you make it a little cheaper?"
"Sir, these are all handmade. Our costs are very high," the red-waistcoated assistant answered from beside him. "Besides, the owner isn't here. We aren't authorized to lower his prices."
The assistant behind the counter echoed him:
"Our apologies, sir."
"All right." Klein handed over the note and took the black cane with its silver-inlaid handle from the red-waistcoated assistant.
While waiting for his change, he stepped back a few paces to give himself room and tested his "off-hand weapon" with a few short swings.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
The wind sounded heavy, and the cane cut through the air with a substantial feel. Klein nodded in satisfaction.
He looked ahead again, expecting to see notes and coins, only to discover in astonishment that the red-waistcoated assistant had retreated far away. The one behind the counter had shrunk into a corner, right beside the double-barreled shotgun hanging on the wall.
The Kingdom of Loen maintained partial controls on firearms. Anyone wishing to own a gun had to apply for an "all-category weapons permit" or a "hunting license," but neither permitted the possession of military-controlled weapons such as repeating rifles, high-pressure steam guns, and six-barreled machine guns.
An "all-category weapons permit" allowed its holder to purchase and keep any type of civilian firearm freely, but obtaining one was extremely troublesome. Even merchants of some standing might fail the review. A "hunting license" was relatively easy to acquire-even farmers in the outskirts could get one-but it only permitted the use of shotguns, and imposed limits on their number. Many people with modest assets applied for one to protect themselves in emergencies, such as now...
...Looking at the two wary assistants, Klein's mouth twitched. He gave a dry chuckle and said:
"Very nice. This cane is excellent for swinging. I'm very satisfied."
Seeing that he had no intention of attacking, the assistant behind the counter relaxed and offered the notes and copper coins he had just counted out with both hands.
Klein took them and glanced at them. There were two five-soli notes, two one-soli notes, one five-pence copper coin, and one penny. He nodded inwardly.
After pausing for two seconds, he ignored the assistants' gazes and unfolded the four notes one by one toward the light, checking that the anti-counterfeiting patterns and watermarks were correct.
Only after doing all this did Klein put away the notes and coins separately. Holding his cane, he adjusted his top hat and walked out of the Vircuel Clothing Store like a gentleman. He extravagantly boarded a trackless public carriage nearby and, after one transfer and a total expenditure of six pence, returned safely to the apartment.
After shutting the door, he counted the eleven pounds and twelve soli in notes three times before putting them in the desk drawer. Then he found the pistol with its brass-colored cylinder and wooden grip.
Clink, clink, clatter!
Five brass-colored bullets fell onto the desk in succession. One by one, Klein loaded the silver Demon Hunting Bullets, marked with intricate patterns and the sacred emblem of darkness, into the cylinder.
As before, he loaded only five, leaving one chamber empty to prevent an accidental discharge. He stored the rest in the small iron box together with the five ordinary bullets he had just removed.
Click!
The cylinder snapped shut, and Klein suddenly felt much safer.
With great enthusiasm, he tucked the revolver into his underarm holster and fastened it securely. Then he practiced unfastening it and drawing the gun over and over, resting whenever his arms grew sore before continuing, until the sky began to darken and the sounds of tenants moving about came from the hallway.
Phew! Klein exhaled a stale breath and returned the revolver to his underarm holster.
Only then did he take off his formal coat and waistcoat, put on his everyday brownish-yellow jacket, and begin exercises to relax his arms.
Tap, tap, tap. Footsteps approached, a key slid into the lock, and a turning sound followed.
Melissa pushed the door open, her smooth black hair hanging loose. Her nose twitched almost imperceptibly. Her gaze swept over the unlit stove, and the light in her eyes dimmed a little.
"Klein, I'll cook the ingredients left over from last night together. Benson might be back tomorrow." Melissa turned to look at her brother.
With his hands in his pockets and his thighs resting against the edge of the desk, Klein smiled.
"No, we're eating out."
"Eating out?" Melissa asked in astonishment.
"How about the Silver Crown Restaurant on Daffodil Street? I've heard the food is excellent," Klein suggested.
"But, but..." Melissa still had not worked out what was happening.
Klein smiled and said:
"To celebrate my finding a job."
"You found a job?" Melissa's voice rose involuntarily. "But, isn't the Tingen University interview tomorrow?"
"A different job." Smiling, Klein took the stack of notes out of the drawer. "They even paid me four weeks' salary in advance."
Looking at the pound and soli notes, Melissa's eyes widened.
"Goddess... You, they, you... What kind of job did you find?"
Well... Klein's expression froze briefly. Choosing his words, he said:
"A security company whose mission is to find, collect, and protect antiquities. They need a professional consultant. A five-year contract, three pounds a week."
"...Was this what you were worrying about last night?" Melissa asked after a moment's silence.
Klein went along with it and nodded.
"Yes. Being a lecturer at Tingen University would be more respectable, but I prefer this job."
"...Actually, it's quite good, too." Melissa gave him an encouraging smile, then asked, half puzzled and half curious, "Why would they pay you a whole four weeks' salary in advance?"
"Because we need to move. We need more rooms, and a bathroom of our own." The corners of Klein's mouth lifted as he spread his hands.
He felt his smile was flawless. All that was missing was the question, "Surprised?"
Melissa froze, then suddenly began speaking very quickly, looking a little flustered:
"Klein, where we live is actually quite nice. When I complain occasionally about not having our own bathroom, it's only out of habit. Do you remember Jenny? She used to live next door. Ever since her father was injured and lost his job, they had to move to Lower Street. All five of them can only live in one room, with three sleeping on bunk beds and two on the floor. They're even thinking of renting out the remaining space for a bed on the floor..."
"Compared with her family, we're doing very well and we're very lucky. Don't waste your salary on this. Besides, I really like Mrs. Slin's bakery."
Sis, this reaction isn't following the script I imagined... Klein listened with a blank expression.