Klein's understanding of the acting method was remarkably deep, even more insightful than Silas had anticipated.
After listening to his explanation, the members of the Nighthawk squad all fell into stunned silence, as if they'd suddenly grasped something profound but were still some distance from their ultimate goal.
This peculiar atmosphere persisted for several days. Even the slow-witted Rozanne sensed something was off.
"Silas, what's going on with everyone lately?"
The moment Silas arrived at work that day, she nervously hurried over to ask.
"What do you mean? I don't know what you're talking about."
Silas played dumb.
"They've all been acting so strange. Don't tell me you haven't noticed!" Rozanne said urgently. "I can see that you and Leonard, and a few others, are the only ones who still seem normal. What exactly happened?"
"I can't disclose that. All I can tell you is that it's a good thing," Silas said with a smile. "Unless you'd like an in-depth refresher on the Nighthawks' confidentiality protocols? I could ask the captain about that."
"No need!"
For some reason, Rozanne was rather afraid of Dunn. Hearing Silas say this, she immediately shook her head in refusal.
She was about to find some excuse to end the conversation and return to the reception desk when she suddenly noticed what looked like brightly colored paper in Silas's hand.
Curious, she asked, "Silas, what's that you're holding?"
"Oh, this? Theater tickets for the Tingen Playhouse."
Silas held up two beautifully printed cardstock tickets, waving them in front of Rozanne. "The Trier Merchant, adapted from Emperor Roselle's classic comedy. Middle section, best seats. This weekend's prime evening showing."
He'd made a special trip to the theater to reserve them. Having stood his sister up twice already, he absolutely couldn't break his promise a third time.
So he'd been especially diligent, heading to the theater before work specifically to buy the best tickets available.
"You're going to the theater with your sister? That's so nice."
Rozanne couldn't help showing an envious expression. "But I read in the newspaper that there's a play called The Count's Return that's been getting rave reviews in Backlund.
It's coming to Tingen in a few weeks. Why not save your money for that one?"
"It's fine. I'm not short on cash."
Having just received a raise, Silas smiled confidently. "If the reviews are good, spending another sum won't matter."
"That's so nice. And so infuriating."
Under Rozanne's envious and jealous gaze, Silas left the reception hall and headed underground to study mysticism-related materials.
After spending some paid time reviewing documents and feeling a bit tired, Silas returned to the ground floor, thinking he'd mooch a cup of black tea from Rozanne.
The moment he passed the partition, he saw Dunn and the "Corpse Collector" Frye sitting in the lounge area, conversing with a tall, portly police officer.
"Silas? Your timing is perfect."
Dunn beckoned to him. "I have something I need you for."
"What's the matter, Captain?"
Silas walked over and asked.
He noticed that Frye wasn't wearing his usual formal attire but had instead put on a probationary inspector's uniform.
The outfit was made of crisp fabric, black with white checks, complete with leather boots and a soft cap.
A silver star on the shoulder marked his status as a probationary inspector. This uniform gave Frye's distinctive bearing a spirited look, reducing some of his corpse-like coldness and adding a touch of severity.
Silas had received a similar uniform after becoming a Nighthawk, though he rarely wore it.
"This is Inspector Toller from the Tingen City Police Department. He needs our assistance."
Dunn introduced the officer to him.
"Pleased to meet you."
The tall inspector stood up and amiably extended his hand to Silas.
I feel like I've heard that name somewhere... Right, it was when I first joined the team. He was the officer who handled three murder scenes in a single night.
With a touch of sympathy, Silas exchanged pleasantries with him and took a seat on one of the sofas.
"Here's the situation..."
After sitting down, Inspector Toller began explaining. It turned out that a viscount in Tingen City had died unexpectedly the previous night.
Because the case involved nobility, the police were under tremendous pressure and hoped the Nighthawks could provide some assistance to identify the killer as soon as possible, or at least determine the cause of death.
Silas looked toward Dunn.
"From what we know so far, this case doesn't appear to involve anything mystical.
Your main job there will be to provide leads.
Klein has the day off. I was planning to send Frye to examine the body, but since you're here, you can go along too and make use of your ritual and your 'eyes.'"
That's what Dunn said.
"Understood, Captain."
Silas hadn't had much to do recently and was actually rather idle, so hearing Dunn's arrangement, he naturally had no objections.
He also went to the break room to change into his probationary inspector uniform, gathered his credentials, and followed Inspector Toller out of the security company's main entrance, boarding a carriage marked with the police emblem.
"So, how exactly did this Viscount Dorset die, and why do you think there's something suspicious about his death?"
In the swaying carriage, Silas asked.
Hearing Silas's question, Inspector Toller's face took on an extremely awkward expression.
"Well... because the scene isn't exactly, uh, dignified. Out of respect for the deceased, I'd rather not go into detail. Please, see for yourselves when we arrive."
You're really leaving me hanging here.
That's what Silas thought, but seeing that Inspector Toller genuinely didn't want to elaborate, he didn't press further.
Instead, he closed his eyes to rest. As he crossed his arms, he unconsciously checked his chest.
In the inner left pocket lay the bone flute and bell, while the right pocket contained the clockwork clown.
Fortunately, all three objects were relatively small and didn't bulge noticeably through his clothes.
Through this period of testing, he'd discovered that the clown's spring had an upper limit.
When spiritual energy was infused to a certain point, the spring would lock again and couldn't be wound further.
In this state, the spring lasted about three minutes. However, for close-quarters combat, three minutes was more than sufficient.
The carriage traveled all the way to Tingen City's most upscale Golden Sycamore District, stopping in front of a high-end detached villa.
This villa, belonging to the Dorset family, was even grander than Professor Azik's, occupying extensive grounds surrounded by flower gardens, an artificial fountain, and lawns.
Straight, wide paths connected various structures scattered throughout: stables, gardener's quarters, servants' quarters, wine cellars, and more.
At present, a large number of police officers are stationed outside.
Led by Inspector Toller, Silas and Frye entered the main building.
In the parlor, they saw several richly dressed men and women being questioned by police officers.
The officers' attitudes were quite respectful, while the expressions on these nobles' faces showed not only arrogance but also a hint of embarrassment and indignation.
Just what state did this viscount die in to make them all look like that?
Silas grew increasingly curious.
They ascended to the second floor where the scene was located.
Toller signaled for the officers guarding the bedroom to step aside, then handed each of them a pair of white gloves.
"Thank you both for this. I hope you can help us find some leads."
The two donned the gloves and pushed open the door, only to be confronted with an unbelievable sight.
The body of Viscount Dorset lay covered with a white sheet.
A certain protrusion of his body was holding the sheet up high; even though he was dead, he still maintained this... posture.
Both men stood dumbfounded.
"This... this is really... too stiff."
After a moment, Frye said hesitantly, even his cold face showing signs of discomfort.
Yeah, and in a bit we're going to have to pull back that sheet for the examination. I really don't want to see that.
Silas was equally at a loss for words.
Frye scanned the room left and right, easily spotting some powder on the bedside table.
"Mummy powder. Used as an aphrodisiac."
He didn't seem surprised in the least.
"Poor Lord Viscount."
Silas shook his head. For some reason, a sentence suddenly popped out of his mouth: "I think he might need a deeper coffin."
"Why?"
"Because if it's too shallow, the lid might get pushed up."
As soon as Silas finished saying this, the corresponding image involuntarily surfaced in his mind, and he let out a snort, unable to hold back his amusement.
"Ahahahahaha!"
His laughter grew stronger and stronger. He simply couldn't contain it and burst into loud guffaws. His laughter was so intense that it carried through the door.
"Silas, keep it down!"
Frye reminded him.
"Hahaha! I can't control it!"
But Silas absolutely couldn't stop. He covered his mouth with his hand, yet laughter still squeezed out from the corners of his lips, echoing loudly in the bedroom.
He saw the door being pushed open, saw Inspector Toller staring at them in bewilderment, and also saw several nobles charging up from downstairs, looking furious.
Oh no. This isn't just social death anymore.