LOM: Lord of Mysticism

At two in the afternoon, outside of a simple two-story building that was in disrepair at the outskirts of the North Borough, Klein, who was in his probationary inspector uniform, looked at the weed-filled garden and the vines that had crept up the walls.

"My combat instructor lives here."

Leonard Mitchell, who had guided Klein there, snickered and said, "Don't underestimate Mr. Gawain because of his residence's surroundings. Although he was never conferred an aristocratic title, he was a true knight back in the day."

The poetic Nighthawk, dressed in a white shirt, black trousers, and buttonless leather boots, suddenly felt melancholic. "He was active during the waning era of the knights. But alas, they were quickly met with the invention of the high-pressure steam guns and six-barrel machine guns. From then on, the knights had to gradually step down.

Mr. Gawain met the same fate. More than twenty years ago, the Awwa Knights' Order of Chivalry faced the most advanced weaponry of the Intis Republic army... Sigh, every time I recall this, it seems like I'm touching the dust heaps of history. The poet in me stirs when thinking of this irreversible and fated destiny, but I'm unable to compose the poem."

Klein acted oblivious to Leonard's self-deprecation and gave a serious suggestion: "My university schoolmate once told me that the composing of poems requires a certain degree of talent. It's best you start by reading the Classical Poems Anthology of the Loen Kingdom."

Leonard's mood changed on a whim. "I purchased that book a long time ago, as well as other titles, such as the Selected Poems of Emperor Roselle. I will work hard to become a true Midnight Poet, Mr. Seer."

Is he hinting at the... acting method? Klein replied, as though he couldn't understand him, "You would still need books on grammar."

"Alright, let's enter." Leonard extended his hand and pushed open the half-closed metallic gates.

The two of them followed the path towards the house. They were still a distance away when Klein saw a tall man walking out from behind the main door of the house.

He had short blond hair, his brows already laced with white hairs, and his wrinkles were etched deep across his face.

"What are you doing here?" the aged man asked in a deep voice.

"Mr. Gawain, as per your contract with the police department, this probationary inspector will be learning the art of combat under your guidance," Leonard explained with a smile.

"Combat? There's no need to study combat in this era." Gawain looked at Klein with turbid eyes and said in a dead voice, "You should learn how to draw your gun and shoot. You should master the most advanced weaponry."

Was this the trauma caused by the six-barrel machine guns and high-pressure steam guns? Klein didn't give a reckless reply and looked at Leonard.

"The art of combat is still a skill a policeman has to master. Most of the criminals we face are not those who must be executed on the spot. Some might not even have weapons. In that case, we have to rely on combat techniques," Leonard said, obviously prepared for such a situation.

With a dark expression, Gawain fell silent before saying, "Throw a punch."

He was addressing Klein.

Klein remembered the boxing matches he had seen in his previous life and raised his arm, throwing a punch forward.

Gawain's lips twitched indiscernibly and said, "Kick."

Tilting to the side slightly and twisting his hips, Klein tightened his thigh muscles and kicked forward with his right foot.

Gawain looked at Leonard and said, "I will honor my contract. But based on his foundation, he needs to come here four times a week, three hours each time, for the first month."

"You're the combat expert. It's up to you." Leonard nodded and said to Klein, "See you at dinner."

After Leonard walked out the metallic gates, Klein asked out of curiosity, "Instructor, how should I begin practicing? Punching, or footwork?"

Gawain shook his head. "What you need now is strength training.

See those? Those are two dumbbells made of steel.

Other than that, you also have to practice deep squats, running, and rope-skipping. Let us take those one set at a time."

"Understood?"

"Understood!" Klein felt as though he had returned to military training and was facing an inhumane instructor.

"Change out of your clothes. There's a set of knight's training clothes on the sofa." Gawain sighed and walked toward the steel dumbbells.

...

Six in the evening, at a corner table of the Old Will Restaurant.

Other than Frye, who was guarding Chanis Gate, all the members of the Blackthorn Security Company were present. Six Nighthawks and five civilian staff.

A white tablecloth was draped over the long table. Waiters carried over plates of food and portioned them before serving them.

Klein saw steaks drenched in black pepper sauce. He saw bacon, sausages paired with mashed potatoes, egg puddings, asparagus, and specialty cheeses. He even saw rose-colored champagne.

Noticing the pale, newly-inducted Nighthawk, Dunn raised the glass of red wine in front of him. "Let us welcome our newest official member, Klein Moretti, cheers!"

The cold and introverted black-haired lady, Royale Reideen, the Sleepless Kenley White, the sloppy Leonard Mitchell, as well as the white-haired, black-eyed Midnight Poet Seeka Tron, all raised their cups and looked at the new member of their team.

Klein raised his glass of amber champagne. "Thank you."

He clinked glasses with every Nighthawk and finished the small amount of champagne.

"Is our Miss Author not going to say something on this occasion?" Dunn smiled as he looked at Seeka Tron.

Seeka Tron was a lady in her thirties. She had average looks but had an exceptional demeanor, one that was quiet and serene.

Klein had heard Old Neil mention that this Midnight Poet had taken on a side job as an author and had attempted to submit her works to newspapers and magazines. Unfortunately, only a few smaller newspapers had accepted them.

Seeka smiled and looked at Dunn. "In order to make the term 'Miss Author' into a reality, Captain, I think you should give me some funds to self-publish my work."

Dunn laughed. "You should learn from Old Neil and give me a more suitable reason."

"I'm most impressed with Mr. Neil in this department!" Rozanne echoed in between her mouthfuls of roast mutton.

Amidst the chatter, Leonard looked at Klein and said, "Are you so tired that you have no appetite to eat?"

"Yeah." Klein sighed.

"If you haven't touched your food yet, I can help." Leonard acted as though he didn't want to waste any food.

Klein nodded. "That wouldn't be an issue."

And with that, a good portion of the food in front of him was eaten by Leonard and the rest.

Nearing the end of the dinner, the waiters served plates of beef pudding and ice cream.

Klein tasted ice cream and found it cold and sweet. He soon finished the ice cream drizzled with a blueberry sauce.

And as a result of this, Klein now felt hungry. He looked to the front, only to see that all the plates were empty. There were no leftovers.

"Let's end the dinner here and give Klein a final toast," Dunn suggested.

Before finishing his sentence, Klein asked, "Captain, may I order another plate of food?"

The group fell silent after hearing such a request.

"Haha, you've finally recovered. No problem; order two plates if you want to." Dunn laughed.

Klein patiently waited for the food. He took it with him to eat later.

"Waiter, the bill, please." Dunn turned around and called for the waiter.

The waiter arrived with the check and gave a thorough breakdown.

Klein felt lucky that he didn't have to pay.