Mystery: The Ancient God is Actually Me

Backlund, Tuesday.

After the Tarot meeting yesterday, Klein, who rested for an hour to recover his spirituality, has already purchased all the necessities of life at the market in the Backlund Bridge District, made up for the missing facilities in the apartment, and even paid for it. A huge sum of twelve pounds.

"I must generate income today."

At eight o'clock in the morning, Klein listened to the activities of the nearby tenants, put on a black double-breasted coat that matched his personality, picked up his cane, mixed with the tenants who went downstairs, and left the apartment.

He didn't choose to cook breakfast in the apartment, but after walking out of the apartment gate, he directly boarded the public carriage leading to the border of the Eastern District, and sat down to the end, only to deal with the nearby vendors casually.

This time I entered the East District at the same time as last time, but it was a lot more lively, and workers could be seen coming and going everywhere.

Because it is close to the border of the East District, the residents here are very old-fashioned, but they are still decent residents of the East District. They are much better than those poor workers who are really naked. become a beast.

Without any hesitation, Klein protected the valuables in the outer pocket of his coat with his left hand, walked quickly into the depths of the East District, and went directly to the bar where the bounty hunters gathered according to the route he had visited last time.

As Klein stepped in, the dust at the door was raised again, and under the sunlight, it slowly swirled and danced in the air.

It was still early in the morning, but the place was filled with the smell of alcohol, and the bounty hunters squatting on the high stools or in the corners, almost everyone held a wooden barrel cup, or tasted, or just held each other. Variety of spirits.

Klein, who was dressed decently and attracted the attention of many people, faced the expectant gaze of the surrounding, and greeted the bartender who was looking at the sound. Naturally, he placed a few coins on the bar, and said in a low voice:

"A glass of Southville beer."

This time, his hands were empty, and the bartender, who had not read the inferior books, glanced at him, muttered, collected the coins, and poured out the beer.

"You came at the right time. Most of the people here are staring at the same job as you. With this kind of clothes, many people just thought you were the client of the Zigman Party."

"Why do you decide that I'm not?" Klein swept his deep ice blue eyes and took the beer handed by the bartender.

"Hehe, because those agents or members of the gang never order alcohol here as long as they are here to entrust a mission. This is the rule." The bartender behind the bar grinned maliciously, his chapped lips ripped apart. very open.

Can't order wine?

Klein, who was puzzled by this, did not delve into it, but silently picked up his beer and sneaked into a corner where the crowd was not crowded, trying to hide his figure.

His nose moved and his expression was slightly distorted, but he still shrank his body. He honestly gave up the empty stool and squatted with a few men who looked thinner next to him, his black double-breasted coat dragged on the ground.

About ten minutes later, when Klein's legs were a little numb, several tall men in heavy trench coats, carrying black suitcases in their hands, walked into this very cramped room without concealment. s Bar.

After seeing the features on several people's faces, the more concave eye sockets like the logo, and the more prominent cheekbones, the bartender behind the bar immediately greeted them, with a plank and paper under his arms.

"Mr. Meursault, what else do you want to entrust this time?" In front of the tall plateau man, the bartender with a medium stature was like a stunted child. He bowed slightly, and the pen in his hand was already on the wooden board. , ready to record at any time.

If it is a normal gang member, as a tavern in a neutral zone where the mission is issued, there is no need to be so diligent, but this time the Zigman Party seems to attach great importance to this operation, and even directly sent Meursault, who is the "executor", to personally Come to entrust the task, which makes the bartender who happens to be on duty a little panic.

This black, lean, strong man with beast-like eyes glanced at the bounty hunters gathered in the bar, shook his head in dissatisfaction, and said in a hoarse voice:

"I need someone who is good at tracking and good at hunting."

"You need a few more accurate shots, you must be good at fighting, and you can always be ready to participate in knife slashing."

"That's right." The fierce "executioner" seemed to remember something interesting, with a stiff smile on his face, his eyes flickering, "It's better to have that kind of heart, which won't be taken carelessly. Terrified."

Although the last request did not seem to be related to the previous ones, the bartender still recorded it on the wooden board very seriously, and only nodded slightly after the last character was written.

Meursault glanced at the paper handed over by the bartender, and when he felt that it was not a big problem, he wiped it with his finger and returned it to the bartender.

He watched the other party bring a chair, and pasted the paper on the wooden board to the left side of the bar, on the vacant wall, the corner of his mouth curled slightly.

There are various colored papers stuck on it, most of which have been marked, and only a few very old ones are still empty, and the one that the bartender himself glued on just now was neatly pasted in the center and pressed down. other commissions.

After doing all this, the members of the Zigman Party did not leave in a hurry, but pulled out a few bounty hunters who were sitting on high chairs, took the beer handed by the bartender, and gathered around the bar. drink up.

This is to see if anyone volunteered to recruit on the spot?

Mixed in the crowd, Klein, who had met one of the black-clothed men, still kept his squatting posture, quietly turned on his spiritual vision, and examined these fierce-looking characters.

In fact, after these few walked into the bar just now, Klein recognized one of them. It was the plateau man who chased the little boy and led his men into the subway station that day.

But what attracted Klein's attention the most was the leading gangster who seemed to have a high status.

The man known as "Mr. Meursault" showed decisiveness in his gestures. In terms of fighting ability, he seemed to be better than Klein, who had received professional knight training, and was better than being a "clown" now. Klein is especially good at close combat.

As Klein hit his teeth, the world in front of him instantly became abstract, divided by various colors.

Through the observation and examination of the things in front of him, especially the spiritual body, the figures of a few Beyonders in the bar are invisible.

According to Klein's judgment in the Nighthawks team, these Beyonders are almost all Sequence Nine, and no Sequence Eight exists.

Of course, it could also be that the opponent's Sequence Eight is good at disguising itself, making it impossible for Klein to find out through this simple observation.

Among these exposed Beyonders, the most obvious one is the leader of several members of the Zigman Party, Meursault, who is as dangerous as a beast.

His spirit body glowed with a **** shimmer, like the concentration of artillery fire and gunpowder smoke, giving people an intuitive sense of violence.

Suddenly, Mr. Meursault, who was sitting in the middle of the bar, seemed to feel something, and subconsciously cast his gaze in the direction of Klein, his brown-red eyes like sharp swords.

Klein, who had sensed the danger in advance, has quickly turned off his spiritual vision, using the expression control of the "clown" to dodge just right, and like the people around him, he used alcohol to cover up his fear.

Meursault didn't find anyone worthy of his attention. He relaxed a little, the barrel cup pressed against his lips, and his thoughts gradually diverged.

"I don't know why Mr. Ambassador asked me to hire these bad guys from the Eastern District. How can they compare to the brothers from Gaoyuan?"

"But Mr. Rosago is right. Even gangsters need a certain amount of knowledge. We plateau people always suffer from this."

"I really don't know how Mr. Rosago has such rich experience, especially in the paragraph he said before, hunters are not limited to wilderness and plateau, but also exist in cities. Human society is the biggest hunting ground."

"Sooner or later, the traps woven by intrigue and intrigue will outweigh the iron beasts, and the power of words is sometimes more important than artillery... I always feel that Mr. Rosago is sometimes more of a 'hunter' than me, he Truly a discreet, learned man."

Da da da.

Some vain footsteps interrupted Meursault's thinking, leading his eyes to sweep forward.

A young woman holding a worn-out doll swayed over, her face was pale, and the dark circles around her eyes seemed to fall down at any time due to anemia and overwork.

"How much are you paying?" This strange woman said in an ethereal voice, ignoring the man next to him who was about to get up, her brown eyes resting on Meursault's stomach.

"Hey!" The man who was about to get up scolded. As soon as he put down the wooden barrel cup in his hand, he felt an inexplicable pulling force on his body. His feet and buttocks seemed to be caught, and they were tightly stuck to the floor. And in the shadow of the high chair, a sickening sound of chewing echoed in my ears.

Originally, he didn't care much. Meursault, who was appreciating the woman's haggard but very delicate face, was condensed, tapped his eyebrows, and opened his spiritual vision.

From his point of view, the woman in front of him, who looks like the dirty goods sold in the East District, who may die at any time, is clinging to a layer of dirty black on her spiritual body. Just a glance, let Meursault The eyes are a little stinging, unbearable.

He hurriedly turned off his spiritual vision, his body was tense, he subconsciously touched the revolver pinned to his belt, and quickly replied:

"Three pounds a week. If we get what we want, there will be other rewards."

"Really, three pounds is enough for me to eat for a long time." The pale-faced woman hugged the puppet in her arms, her bright red tongue licked her pale lips, and her pupils shrank, "My name is Helen, and I will listen to you now. already."

Phew... The pressure on his body suddenly disappeared. Meursault first glanced at his companion who had recovered his freedom, and then removed his right hand from his belt, put down his glass and stood up.

He whispered a few words to the subordinates behind him, pressed a banknote on the bar counter, and respectfully invited the terrifying woman who claimed to be Helen to walk out of the tavern with him, no longer expecting others to come forward.

For a while, the originally quiet bar regained the noise it should have.

My feet are already numb... Klein, who was in the corner, supported the legs of the high chair beside him, and slowly pulled himself up from the ground.

"The woman just now, she had no intention of restraining her spirituality at all. Her spiritual body gave me a sense of familiarity."

"Is she a believer of the true creator, or is she a Beyonder of the Hanged Man pathway?"

"From the intuitive point of view, she should be a Sequence Seven, similar to the captain."

Sherlock Moriarty, with a relatively mature face and deep ice-blue eyes, had the fine wrinkles on his face stacked together, like intertwined cobwebs.

He was a little worried about what kind of disaster would happen in Backlund after an Extraordinary who was obviously not in a good state, like a ticking time bomb, joined a violent gang.

Although there will be official Beyonders in charge of dealing with it, the huge population of Backlund also predestines that it is impossible for the official Beyonders to notice every place, and at most they will remedy the situation after the incident.

Thinking about the news related to the Zigman Party, he silently raised his hand and kneaded his slightly sore face, fighting against the negligible negative effect of this magical item on his face.

Although the object that looks like human skin does not contain real Beyonder characteristics, so the negative effects are not obvious, but if it is worn for a long time, it will still image the user's facial muscles, causing it to unnaturally stiff and stiff. Soreness, if worn for a long time, it may even cause short-term facial paralysis.

"The woman just now gave me a feeling of Miss Dilcha." Just as Klein was flexing his facial muscles, a middle-aged man beside him suddenly muttered to his acquaintance~www.wuxiamtl.com ~Miss Dilcha? You mean the famous 'arbiter'? "

"How come, that woman doesn't have that scary sense of majesty." The man in the worker's uniform looked puzzled and subconsciously retorted.

Hearing his friend's rebuttal, the man who started the conversation first suddenly stopped, and then said in frustration:

"I'm not sure, it's that feeling of being unable to resist..."

"Arbiter"?

Klein, who has been paying attention to the change of thoughts around him, guessed the true identity of Miss Dilcha who was mentioned by the people around him just now.

"I remember that the 'Arbiter' pathway is controlled by the royal family, is it a plainclothes member of MI9, or is it a simple wild Beyonder?"

Suddenly, Klein, who was thinking, turned his head, followed the direction in which his spiritual intuition was touched, and looked over imperceptibly.

I saw a thin boy wearing a round felt hat and wrapped in a tattered coat at the gate that was originally empty, and walked quickly into the bar, heading straight for the bar.

He watched the crowd around him very vigilantly, his bright red eyes rolled quickly and his movements were sophisticated.

"That boy from that day?" Klein hardly thought about it, he recognized the boy who was hiding behind his back that day, and later came to express his thanks, and was hunted down by members of the Zigman Party.

However, because he was in the crowd, and the light in the bar was not good, Ian did not directly discover his existence, but paid a certain commission to the bartender very familiarly, and then turned his back and moved towards the bartender. The bounty hunters in the bar whispered:

"Are there any people who are good at anti-tracking, fighting and firearms?"

"You'd better be bold, three pounds a week."