Lord of Mysteries

Chapter 78 Psychological Trauma (First Update, Please Vote)

Al Hassen chimed in:

"Indeed, it's hard to imagine that the sequel to 'The Fortune Teller' would be 'The Joker.' Logically, no one would connect the two."

"Is this strange? I remember that many sequence potions lack the necessary connection between them." The black-haired woman, Lolota, covered her mouth and yawned. It was clear that her injuries were quite serious, to the point that even "Goddess's Gaze" could no longer keep her full of energy.

"No, Lolota, it's completely different. Even if other sequence potions lack connections, we can find some common ground in other aspects, but not 'The Diviner' and 'The Clown'. I just can't understand it." Al Hassen shook his head and sighed.

Klein listened to their discussion and chuckled, saying:

"No, there are still things in common."

"What is it?" Al asked curiously, and Dunn's movements of bending and stretching his arms also slowed down noticeably.

Klein answered in a very serious tone:

"Whether you're a 'fortune teller' or a 'clown,' you can find them in the circus."

"..." El, Dunn, and Lolota were stunned.

"Pfft... Not bad, I like young people like you!" The black-haired woman, Lolota, was the first to come to her senses and laughed.

El smiled and shook his head, saying:

"In this day and age, gentlemen with a self-deprecating spirit are becoming increasingly rare. Fortunately, we have met another one today."

You think I enjoy making self-deprecating jokes? ...I just couldn't think of any other commonalities either... Klein muttered to himself, then replied with a slightly bitter smile:

"I just hope that potions from this sequence path won't have names like 'Beast Tamer,' 'Acrobat,' or 'Magician' anymore, or it'll really turn into a circus."

And it's a one-person group...

"Haha." Dunn and the others were immediately amused by his words, and the carriage was filled with a cheerful atmosphere.

The carriage moved forward and arrived at Zotland Street. Klein, who was not seriously injured, was the first to enter the Blackthorn Security Company.

"Goddess! What happened to you? How did you end up like this?" Rosanne glanced at her casually and exclaimed in astonishment.

Klein glanced down at his dirty and tattered suit, and still felt a pang of heartache as he replied:

"There are always unexpected events in missions, but thankfully, with the goddess's blessing, the ending is beautiful."

"Praise be to the goddess!" Rosanne devoutly drew a "Crimson Moon" on her chest.

Before Klein could speak, she asked:

"Do we need to go back to the third floor to hide? Is that sealed artifact really that dangerous?"

"Believe me, it's more dangerous than you think," Klein replied, still shaken.

If it weren't for my even more mysterious "luck-changing ritual," I would have perished at "2-049" today!

"Goddess..." Rosanne's lips moved, as if she had so much to say and so many questions to ask, but considering that the captain was waiting downstairs, she finally restrained her impulse and beckoned Mrs. Orianna and the others to the third floor—the two floors next to Blackthorn Security Company, which were either church properties or inhabited by devout priests who vaguely knew the situation.

Once all the civilian staff had left, Klein didn't rush to the recreation room to inform the other night watchmen. Instead, he immediately returned to assist the captain and others in escorting the sealed artifact "2-049," the remnants of the monster Bieber, and the Antigonus family notes to the second floor.

Through the partition, Dunn pushed open the door to the recreation room and addressed the two night watchmen who were playing Gwent:

"Frye, Luo Yao, you two go to the Tyrell warehouse in the dock area immediately to assist Leonard in handling the aftermath."

"Okay." Luo Yao, a woman with jet-black hair and a cold expression, was the first to stand up.

Frye, the "corpse collector" with black hair, blue eyes, and pale skin, stood up straight.

They put down their Gwent cards, walked out of the recreation room, and paused noticeably as they passed through the partition.

"Wait a minute," Dunn called out, living up to everyone's expectations.

"Is there anything else?" Luo Yao, the "Sleepless One," asked, turning his head without changing his expression.

"Remember to notify the police and have them block the road. Don't let anyone near the scene until you've cleared the area and brought the body back," Dunn said, patting his forehead.

"Okay." Luo Yao turned around, took two steps forward, and then stopped again.

She turned around, blinked, and confirmed in a cold, indifferent tone:

"Captain, is there anything else?"

"No," Dunn replied firmly.

Luo Yao nodded almost imperceptibly and walked towards the door first.

Meanwhile, the cold and gloomy "corpse collector" Frye maintained his unhurried pace.

Just then, Dunn spoke again:

"Remember, remember to tell Rosanne and Mrs. Oriana that they can come down now."

"No problem," Frye replied calmly, almost without any emotional fluctuation.

Watching the two night watchmen walk out the door and climb to the third floor, Klein quietly breathed a sigh of relief. He followed the captain and El and the others into the underground, proceeding straight until they reached the double-opening Charis door.

"Go to the armory and fetch Old Neil. We need his ritual magic to heal us," Dunn instructed Klein while gesturing for Cohenley, the "Sleepless One" who remained behind, to open the Charnis door.

As the effects of the medicine wore off, his spirits gradually waned.

"Okay." Klein didn't wait for the captain to add anything and said to himself, "I will take over guarding the armory from old Neil, and I will also apply for at least twenty more Demon Hunter bullets, and wait for the Sanctuary's approval, suppressing my curiosity about the Antigonus family notes."

"..." Dunn was momentarily at a loss for words.

"Captain, is there anything else?" Klein asked with a smile after answering the question first.

Dunn shook his head, still unable to utter a word.

Klein took out his cane, turned around, walked a short distance, and headed towards the armory, where he told old Neil, who was drinking water, what had happened.

"You've turned into a runaway monster...and you even killed an Extraordinary?" Old Neil quickly tidied the table. "I feel like I'm listening to a play script."

He muttered something as he walked around the table, heading straight for the corridor, without waiting for Klein's reply.

Klein, however, asked with considerable curiosity:

"Mr. Neil, doesn't the church have any real healing potions? Why do we still need the help of ritual magic?"

"Potions made from ordinary materials cannot solidify the healing effects from the ritual for long, and extraordinary materials are very rare, and most of them are not suitable for this kind of thing," Old Neil casually explained. "You should know about 'The Goddess's Gaze,' right? When this potion is first made through the ritual, it is a standard, genuine healing potion, but every minute after that, the effect evaporates until only a little is left."

"I see..." Klein nodded with a hint of disappointment.

As a former "keyboard adventurer," or game enthusiast, longing for healing potions is simply a matter of habit.

After watching Old Neil leave, he sat down and felt a peace he hadn't experienced in a long time.

In this tranquility, he recalled the clown in the tuxedo's miserable death, his own cold-blooded shooting, and the gruesome wound and gushing blood.

Klein's body began to tremble, and he felt a growing unease. He first stood up, then sat down, and then slowly repeated the process, interspersed with pacing back and forth.

"Phew..." He let out a breath, intending to find something to do to avoid constantly thinking about those unpleasant images.

Klein took off his top hat and suit, then took out a handkerchief and brush and began to carefully clean the mud and dust off his clothes.

After an unknown amount of time, he heard the familiar footsteps of Old Neil—a distinctive sound made by the heel landing first.

"This is exhausting..." Old Neil complained as he walked into the room.

"Tell the others not to come here for an hour. I need some rest," he said casually, glancing at Klein.

"Why don't you go upstairs to rest, and I'll keep watch here?" Klein kindly suggested.

Old Neil shook his head:

"It's too noisy upstairs; little Rosen is a girl who can't stop talking."

"Alright." Klein didn't insist any further. He put on his coat, hat, and cane, returned to the corridor, and half-closed the armory door.

Tap, tap, tap, he walked slowly down the empty corridor and suddenly saw a room next to him that he had never seen before.

"There's a secret door here..." Klein stopped near the corner and looked towards the room.

He discovered that "corpse collector" Frye had returned and was inside, examining a completely naked corpse in detail.

A corpse? Klein's heart skipped a beat. He mustered his courage, approached the room, and knocked three times on the open door.

Boom, boom, boom.

Fry stopped what he was doing, turned around, and looked at him with his cold, azure eyes.

"Sorry to bother you, I just wanted to know if this is the corpse of that extraordinary being?" Klein asked carefully, choosing his words.

"Yes." Frye's thin lips parted, but he only uttered one word.

Klein's gaze passed over him and fell on the corpse, where he indeed found that familiar, gruesome wound on the forehead.

It was that clown in the tuxedo… Klein sighed inwardly.

"Did you find anything?"

"No," Frye replied with unusual succinctness.

The atmosphere suddenly became awkward. Just as Klein was about to take his leave, Frye spoke up first:

"If you feel uncomfortable, you can come in and take a look. You'll find that it's just a corpse."

Are you worried I have psychological issues? Klein nodded thoughtfully:

"OK."

He entered the room, came to the long table covered with a white cloth, and looked at the corpse.

The red, yellow, and white paint on the clown's face had all been removed, revealing a rather unremarkable, unfamiliar face with black hair, a high nose, and an age of around thirty.

At this moment, Fry walked to the square table in the corner and picked up a pencil and a piece of white paper.

He returned to the vicinity of the body, placed a piece of white paper, picked up a pencil, and began to draw.

Klein glanced over curiously and discovered that Frye was actually sketching the head of the tuxedo clown.

Not long after, Fry put down his pencil, and a lifelike portrait appeared on the white paper. Compared to the corpse, it was only without wounds and had blue eyes.

"What a talent..." Klein exclaimed in surprise.

"I never expected your sketches to be so good."

"Before becoming a night watchman, my dream was to be a painter," Fry said in a flat tone.

"Then why not pursue your dreams?" Klein asked, puzzled.

Frye put down his pencil, holding the portrait of the clown in a tuxedo, and said:

"My father is a priest of the goddess, and he hopes that I will also become a priest, which is a respectable profession."

"You were a pastor?" Klein asked again, surprised.

He found it hard to imagine someone with Frye's personality and temperament becoming a pastor.

"Hmm, not bad." Frye replied with a cold expression and a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth. "Later, I encountered some things and experienced some things, and then I became a Night Watcher."

Klein didn't pry into other people's privacy, but instead asked:

"You were once the goddess's priest, so why not choose the 'Sleepless One'?"

"For a personal reason," Frye replied frankly, "and Ms. Daly is a good role model."

Klein nodded, about to change the subject, when he heard Frye say:

"Keep an eye on this place for me. I need to get the portrait to the captain immediately... Closing the secret door is a hassle."

"Okay." Although Klein was a little afraid of facing the corpse alone, he still forced himself to agree.

With Frye gone, the room fell silent, the body lying there weighing heavily on Klein's heart.

He took a breath and approached the long table as if trying to overcome himself.

The clown in the tuxedo lay still, his face pale, his eyes closed, devoid of any life. Apart from the gruesome wounds, he exuded the unique chill of the dead.

Klein gazed at it for a while, his mood gradually calming down, and he seemed to have calmed down.

His gaze swept across the clown in the tuxedo and he noticed a strange brand on the clown's wrist. So, he mustered his courage and reached out to touch it, wanting to turn it over so he could see it more clearly.

The icy sensation had just traveled from Klein's fingertips to his brain when the pale, lifeless hand suddenly sprang up and grabbed his wrist.

She gripped his wrist tightly!

PS: June 7th, first update, please vote!

(End of this chapter)