Mystery: The Ancient God is Actually Me

"The reward has arrived, A."

Klein put away the note in his palm, rubbed his fingers, and was ignited by the spiritual flame. The ashes that were still warm fell into the half-cup of South Wales beer, puncturing the white foam floating on the surface.

"I want to find Caspars." Klein looked at the **** brawler in the ring in the distance, and tapped in front of the bartender.

The rubbed so-so glass reflects the bartender's distorted reflection, his body swaying, and he looks drunk, his arms slammed out, pointing in a random direction.

"In the old place."

The fight in the arena was over, the winner was waving his arms, and the bills in the denomination of Sule covered the edge of the simple arena and were stuck with sweat.

Klein took a slow breath, got up and walked to the room next to the back kitchen of the bar.

He wasn't looking for Caspers per se.

It was Friday, five o'clock in Backlund time, and it was also the construction time that he had made an appointment with Miller Carter through a letter.

Walking through the greasy-smelling corridor, Klein lightly knocked on the closed wooden door, counted in his heart silently, and took two steps back.

Squeak.

The unreliable wooden door fell back lightly, and a gloomy man wearing a dark blue work uniform with a livid face opened the door, his eyes were slightly confused.

His unfocused gaze stayed on Klein's chest. After swiping a few times, he snorted and moved forward.

Maric, who looked crazy and sane in his eyes, was still sitting in the deepest seat of the room, but this time there were no more corpses around the table.

In front of the wall on the right side of the room, corpses in uniform worker uniforms lined up like sculptures, standing behind Caspars, whose face was slightly disturbed.

Before Klein could say hello, the air on the left side of the room was blurry, and the figure was hazy. Sharron, who didn't look like the real thing, outlined her figure from nothingness, and the color was light.

"Already prepared."

Klein, who closed the door with his hands behind his back, nodded slightly, then his thoughts changed, and his voice calmly said:

"What about the explosives we need?"

The indifferent Sharon turned her head slightly and looked in the direction of Caspers.

The sudden gaze made the old man who had obviously seen the wind and waves shudder. He bit his lip and answered Sharon's question in a low tone.

"A total of two pounds, all in the box, through the regular channels."

Saying that, he pointed to a living corpse with a wooden box behind him.

He didn't know why it was just one hire, this seemingly hidden Sherlock Moriarty had established such a close relationship with the supporters behind him.

He had never seen Miss Sharon show her true colors before anyone else.

Two pounds, is this the judgment of the blasting experts?

It seems that Miss Sharon and Maric didn't tell Caspers why they prepared explosives... Klein nodded clearly and added kindly:

"We're just going to help someone remodel a basement."

Caspars was stunned for a moment, his red nose and the scar that occupied most of his face twitched obviously. He looked for help like Maric, but the latter still seemed to be suppressing something. He just raised his arm, waved it out, and remained silent.

Sharon, who was floating aside, watched Kaspars walk out of the room in relief, turned her head slowly, and her voice was ethereal.

"Maric won't come here again in the future."

"Then how do I get in touch in the future?" Klein looked in Sharon's direction almost without thinking.

He looked at the pair of gem-like pure blue eyes, and added:

"I think there will be times when we need to cooperate in the future."

Maric, who was sitting behind the poker table, frowned rarely, with obvious doubts in his eyes.

The body fell, and Sharon, who was sitting on the high stool, took a few seconds to explain a few words.

"After this operation, it may attract attention."

"Contacts are relayed through Caspers."

attract attention?

That's right, "Xenogeneic" was originally an Extraordinary pathway mastered by the Southern Continent cult organization. It was not common in the entire Northern Continent, and it was indeed easy for the official Extraordinary to pay more attention.

However, Miss Sharon and Maric don't look like the members of the "Rose School" described in the internal documents of the Nighthawks. If they were only hidden in a bar with a gray background, they should not have alarmed the official Beyonders. They were worried about others. power?

Klein nodded in surprise and didn't ask any further questions.

"OK."

Saying that, he casually dragged over a stool, took out his pocket watch from his coat and glanced at it.

"Less than an hour, shall we go now?"

Sitting on the high stool, Sharon, whose expression was still indifferent, did not respond. Instead, she still stared at Klein and reminded succinctly:

"After blowing up there, only I was able to enter."

Klein, who had just retracted his pocket watch, was stunned for a moment, then a smile appeared on the corner of his mouth, and he shook his head.

"It does not matter."

Anyway, he can also take advantage of the special nature of the gray fog and come directly in the form of a spirit body, which is no different from the "wraith".

He tapped the table habitually, pressing his fingers on the scattered cards on the table.

"I think there may be more than one entrance."

Seeing the restrained curiosity of Sharon and Maric, Klein's mouth curled even more, and his tone was brisk.

"I found the previous director of that house, Raft Pound, a run-down baron."

"Of course, I used some means to contact him and asked about the secrets behind some underground ruins."

Playing with the cards and chips on the table, Klein erased the speculations about Medici and Tudor and other high-level existences, and shared them with his partners one by one.

"Anyway, after I loosened my grip on Pound, he cried out for help, attracting many people watching nearby."

"He didn't lie about this. There are still many people who are very concerned about him and the house, and even set up a secret post and bury an undercover beside him."

"'Hunter'..." Sharon, who was sitting on the high stool, murmured softly, her palms on her cheeks unconsciously.

Although there has been speculation, she still has not determined which sequence the ghost in the underground ruins is in.

After all, there is not only one sequence that can manipulate flames, and many spirit world creatures have similar abilities.

The room fell silent for a while, Klein looked at her thinking, took out his pocket watch again, glanced at it, and after a minute of waiting, he interrupted softly:

"It's almost time."

Sharon, who had been thinking seriously for the last second, instantly returned to the most common state in her daily life, her body floated up, and she left the high stool. The emotion that finally flowed out of her blue eyes disappeared in an instant.

She nodded lightly, her already hazy and illusory figure became thinner and thinner, and she threw herself into a corpse standing by the wall.

The living corpse in the dark blue uniform shook his head slightly, his eyeballs were still cloudy, but there was already a touch of agility.

He led out of the room at the front, the rest of the corpses lined up behind him.

Klein leaned on the seat beside the card table, kneaded his cheeks gently, and stood up slowly.

If I read it right just now, that corpse should be the prettiest among all the living corpses?

He pushed on his glasses, turned his head to look back slightly, and shook his head at Maric who looked blank.

............

"This is the six soules, all of you." Williams leaned against the door frame of his rental house, holding the banknotes in his hand, waved to a few workers outside the door with a submissive expression, and released his fingers.

Wow, the banknotes were scattered, and several figures squatted down quickly, scrambling to pick up the loose change on the ground.

The leading worker seemed to want more compensation, but after looking at Williams' sturdy physique, the facial features on his face were twisted together. He just squatted down for a moment and joined the plan to pick up change.

Williams, who was leaning against the door frame, silently lit a cigarette, turned his eyes upward, and slammed the door shut, and the wind-blown banknotes flew with him.

He doesn't care how the few outsiders divide the money, anyway, it's not his little brother who is begging for food.

He has always had this attitude towards this kind of semi-old worker who is not willing to muster up the courage to join a gang, but also wants to make extra money from time to time.

"A bunch of people with no bottom line." He was about to grab the beer on the table and looked up, but his movements suddenly stopped.

Between the half-opened windows, a figure in a pure black half-length coat was standing there, his face blurred.

He suddenly felt that the room was darker.

"We can sit down and communicate." The figure had a mellow voice and didn't seem to mean to attack him.

Williams, in his prime, instinctively questioned as usual, but the growing fear in his heart eventually overwhelmed his defenses.

The sturdy young man put down the beer in his hand and moved to the table a little bit ~www.wuxiamtl.com~ opened the chair and sat down.

He glanced out the window subconsciously, and there was thunder and rain.

The figure with a blurred face did not know when he had reached the opposite side of him.

This gentleman, who doesn't look like a native of the East End, patted his forehead habitually, and his voice was still mellow, like a requiem in the night, which could soothe a trembling heart.

"I want to know why you would let someone report that there are cult members in the dock union,"

They sure know!

Williams, who is very experienced in this, subconsciously seemed to tell the truth, but the petite figure with blond hair suddenly flashed in his mind, and he couldn't help but see Hugh's immature face in his mind.

Feeling a dry throat, Williams swallowed hard, and his voice was more hoarse than he thought.

"Bar, commission in the bounty hunter bar, I'm only responsible for delivering messages."

"Really?" The unexpectedly talkative man across the table nodded.

He lifted the blurred face, barely able to see the height of the hairline, and stared deeply at Williams with a gentle smile.

The thicker darkness in the room spread silently. Williams got up in a panic, but found himself standing by the door frame, and the voices of the workers arguing could still be heard through the wooden door.

I'm asleep?

He looked at the window subconsciously, there was a thunderstorm, the window was closed!

Williams, whose cigarette butts were almost burned out, shook his head, his footsteps a little vain.

"As expected, I've been under a bit of pressure recently. Next time, I'll tell Hugh that I can no longer do church-related work..."

At this time, the noise outside the house finally ceased, and in the corridor of the stairs, a gentleman in a burgundy coat pushed his glasses.

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