Chapter 73

[AI ERROR / SAFETY BLOCK - RAW ENGLISH RETAINED]

Under the brilliant light of the afternoon sun, Klein, in his dust-coated clothes, quickly spun his revolver’s cylinder to cycle to a live round. Thus, he readied himself to shoot at a moment’s notice, allowing the light to reflect off the glistening brass barrel of the revolver.

He extended his gun-wielding hand, arm parallel to the ground, and watched for any changes around him.

At the same time, he was a little worried about Captain Dunn and Mr. Ayer Harson. After all, both were Nightmare Beyonders specializing in subtly influencing the enemy, and he wasn’t sure if they were adept at face-to-face combat.

Just as these thoughts crossed Klein’s mind, Ayer Harson slowed his forward charge, his expression becoming serene and sorrowful.

He opened his mouth and recited a poem that evoked a sense of peace, as if one were surrounded by a tranquil night:

“When once the sun sinks in the west,

And dewdrops pearl the evenings breast;

Almost as pale as moonbeams are,

Or its companionable star,

The evening primrose opens anew

Its delicate blossoms to the dew;

And, hermit-like, shunning the light,”(10)

...

As his voice resonated around them, Klein nearly let go of his tightly wound nerves and completely relaxed. Fortunately, he had experienced something similar before and was not directly in the direction Ayer Harson was facing. He quickly collected himself and entered a half-trance state to combat the influence of the poem.

Phew...He let out a sigh of relief. He no longer had any doubts about Dunn’s and Ayer’s abilities in direct combat.

Having advanced only recently and still lacking a deep understanding of Sequence potions, Klein had forgotten that Sequence Seven Nightmare was an advancement of Sequence Eight Midnight Poet. Members retained their previous abilities while enjoying a modest increase in power.

The only impression Klein had of Midnight Poets came from Leonard Mitchell. He knew that this “profession” similarly inherited the unique traits of a Sleepless. They excelled in combat, shooting, climbing, and perception, and were also adept at influencing those around them through various poetic styles. In simpler terms, they were violent poets.

Amid the sound of Ayer’s recital, the large wooden crates stacked around them suddenly seemed to ripple like water. A man in a black tuxedo and short top hat emerged from within.

However, this man’s face was painted in three vibrant colors—red, yellow, and white—causing the sides of his lips to appear highly curved, reminiscent of a clown. This created an absurd contrast with his formal attire, suitable for an evening banquet.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

The dark-haired markswoman Lorotta charged forward swiftly. With a gun in one hand and her other hand clenched into a fist, she advanced until she was mere centimeters from the tuxedoed clown.

The clown seemed to have been affected by Ayer Harson’s poem.

His body swayed slightly, and he wore a peaceful expression, as if he had no desire to fight back.

Pop!

Lorotta lunged forward in a boxing maneuver, swinging her fist toward the tuxedo clown’s face.

Bang!

The air crackled as the clown shattered like a mirror; its broken shards quickly evaporated before disappearing completely into thin air.

Just then, the tuxedo clown quickly reappeared in the shadows of the wooden crates a few steps away, his outline swiftly forming in the air.

The figure under the influence of the poem moments ago was merely an illusion! It was a performance!

The tuxedo clown grinned again, his mouth stretching into a wide smile. He looked comical as he pressed down on his short top hat with one hand and snapped his fingers with the other.

Bang!With a snap of his fingers, the sound of a gunshot rang out. Lorotta leaped to her left and rolled on the ground, dodging the attack.

But aside from the illusory crack of a gun firing, nothing happened.

Bang! Bang! Bang!Dunn and Ayer each lifted their guns and fired steadily. The tuxedo clown deftly dodged to the left and right, sometimes retreating and sometimes rolling on the ground, as if he were an acrobat in a circus.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Lorotta charged forward again, swinging her fist. Despite her reputation as a sharpshooter, she still insisted on engaging in hand-to-hand combat against the enemy.

Bam!Unable to dodge the attack in time, the tuxedo clown could only raise his left arm to block the punch.

Seeing him pause, Dunn and Ayer did not hesitate to take aim and pull the trigger.

Just then, the arm the tuxedo clown used to block Lorotta’s fist burst into an orange-yellow flame. In the blink of an eye, the flame completely enveloped him and spread toward Lorotta.

Bang! Bang!Dunn and Ayer fired their revolvers, striking the ball of flame.

The flames burned rapidly, and soon, all that was left were black ashes floating in the air. But the tuxedo clown once again appeared behind a nearby stack of wooden crates, partially obscured.

He lifted his right hand and snapped his fingers again.Bang!Amid the illusory gunshot, Lorotta suddenly stopped in her tracks. On the ground before her, where mud had splattered, lay a bullet hole. This strike was no longer an illusion!

With this strategy, it was difficult to discern real from fake and reality from illusion.

Bang! Bang! Bang!The tuxedo clown snapped his fingers repeatedly, flashing in and out of hiding as he exchanged fire with Dunn and Ayer.

Seeing this, Lorotta narrowed her eyes and raised the dark gold revolver in her left hand.Bang!The tuxedo clown suddenly ducked, avoiding the fatal shot. His short top hat flew backward, falling to the ground with a visible scorch mark.

After rolling a few times on the ground, the tuxedo clown scaled the stacks of wooden crates with the agility of a curly-haired baboon. From his higher vantage point, he snapped his fingers and released several air bullets.

Ayer Harson took a few steps back, lowered his gun, and continued his previous recital:

“Wastes its fair bloom upon the night,

Who, blindfold to its fond caresses,

Knows not the beauty it possesses;”

...

The tuxedo clown hopped repeatedly between the crates, then suddenly raised his hand to pick at his ears as he looked at Ayer with a comical smile.

Could he have stuffed his ears in advance? The Sequence potion from the Secret Order sure is weird...A thought surfaced in Klein’s mind as he observed the fight from afar.

Just as the thought flashed, he suddenly saw a figure appear at the top of a warehouse beside him, racing straight toward where Ryer Bieber was hiding.

The figure was dressed in the grayish-white uniform of a dock worker, and his face also seemed painted red, yellow, and white.

Is the tuxedo clown responsible for distracting Captain Dunn and the others while someone else goes to retrieve the diary?

Klein instinctively raised his right hand to shoot the figure on the roof.

He had just taken aim when the figure suddenly ducked, lunging directly into a roll.

Bang!

Klein pulled the trigger, unable to stop himself in time. He saw the figure suddenly pause, with blood spurting from his body.

The figure glanced back at him in shock. Then, bearing the pain, he continued charging toward the warehouse.

Damned if that wasn't a lucky shot...Klein’s lips twitched as he pulled the trigger again. This time, the bullet struck the wooden roof beside his target.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Leonard and Borgia also fired, but neither managed to hit their mark.

Klein was just starting to wonder why they weren’t as good a shot as he was when he suddenly froze.

That's right! Why should we stop him?

Didn't I divine that there was grave danger in the warehouse just now? Why not let that guy be the vanguard and step on the land mine for us?

Leonard and Mr. Borgia must have had the same idea...

With this thought, Klein tilted the barrel of his revolver upward and shot at the sky.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Amid the sound of the gunshots, the figure managed to reach the roof of the innermost warehouse without obstruction.

He lunged downward, slamming his elbow into the roof before dropping inside along with the debris.

Following the sound, the dark-haired Lorotta’s eyes suddenly turned black. She made a strange pulling motion in the air with her left hand.

The tuxedo clown’s acrobatic movements abruptly halted. An invisible hand seemed to grip him tightly by his ankle.

Dunn did not shoot immediately; instead, he lowered his revolver. He opened his mouth, and rather than speaking, he reverberated the air with a strange, weightless, and ethereal sound of spirituality—finishing Ayer’s poem:

“Thus it blooms on while night is by;

When day looks out with open eye,

Bashed at the gaze it cannot shun.

It faints and withers and is gone. ”

...

The tuxedo clown’s struggling movements suddenly became limp, as if he had lost the will to fight.

Ayer Harson lifted his handgun and took aim, his finger poised on the trigger.

In that split second, an abnormally devastating cry rang out from inside the warehouse. “Aaaaah!”

The cry carried immense fear, as though it came from someone encountering unspeakable horror.

Just as the hair on Klein’s body stood on end, the cry ceased, and the innermost warehouse fell silent once again—a silence that made one’s skin crawl.

Bang!

Affected by the cry, Ayer managed only to shoot the tuxedo clown in the belly.

‘‘Hahhh... Hng... Uh!”

The silence in the warehouse was broken again by a sudden wave of what began as soft gasps for breath. It gradually grew louder until it reached a crescendo that tugged at everyone’s nerves.

Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!

Inside the black chest, 2-049 turned frantic, its frenzy reaching a peak.