Lord of Mysteries: The Assassin's Dark Path

After giving the door two polite knocks as a reminder, Varina pushed open the door to the second billiards room and stepped inside.

Kaspars Kalinin was practicing his shots alone.

He was a man in his fifties, with a massive scar stretching from the corner of his right eye down to the side of his mouth. At first glance, his face gave off an intimidating, even menacing, impression. However, when he moved, the limp in his gait significantly softened that aura of menace.

This was the first impression based purely on his appearance.

But Varina knew him better. In the original work, when faced with Klein, who was disguised as an ordinary man, Kaspars had shown himself to be helpful and honest, though his fees leaned on the higher side.

Of course, such behavior could also be attributed to the "old man's" pride, so Varina intended to take advantage of that same reputation.

"Who are you? What do you want from me?"

Kaspars noticed the unfamiliar young man and asked with a somewhat heavy tone.

"I want a revolver, a shoulder holster, and 30 rounds of compatible ammunition."

Varina stated his request before adding with a smile, "I was referred by 'the old man.'"

Kaspars scrutinized Varina with an undisguised gaze, looking him over twice before making an offhand comment: "Hmph, you don't look like a detective, young man."

This might have been a subtle warning or simply a remark on his youthful appearance.

Varina didn't overthink it and replied smoothly, "You're right; I'm not. You've got a sharp eye."

"So, how much will it cost me?"

"Three pounds," Kaspars replied, then explained, "While it's more expensive than buying from a legitimate arms dealer, I don't require a firearms license here."

"That's a fair price. I'll take it."

Varina pulled three one-pound notes from his right pocket and handed them over.

That morning, he had left home carrying all the savings he had accumulated over the past year—roughly 20 pounds in total. Among them were three five-pound notes he kept in his left pocket, separate for security. This was why he had kept his left hand in his pocket nearly all day.

The habit certainly affected his outward image, but the risk of losing a significant portion of his savings outweighed that concern.

"Straightforward. Wait here for five minutes," Kaspars said after verifying the bills, limping out of the room. He returned shortly with a brown paper package.

Varina opened the package but didn't inspect it closely. Instead, he immediately tucked the silver revolver into the waistband at the back of his trousers—he didn't know how to use a gun, so looking at it wouldn't help. The shoulder holster, meant to be worn inside his jacket, wasn't something he could put on right away either.

As for the box of bullets and the holster, he stuffed them into the pockets of his coat.

This transaction was more about building rapport with Kaspars than the gun itself. Of course, the weapon wasn't useless; others wouldn't know he was inexperienced.

With the transaction serving as an icebreaker, Varina got to the real purpose of his visit:

"I heard you know some incredibly skilled individuals—mysterious and so capable that they don't play by conventional rules. Can you introduce me to them?"

Kaspars, who had been reaching for his cue stick, abruptly turned back, his cold gaze scrutinizing Varina once more.

The intensity of his stare lasted several minutes. Kaspars remained silent, creating a palpable atmosphere of pressure, as if daring Varina to back down.

But Varina held firm, showing no sign of fear.

"What do you need from them?" Kaspars finally relented. "I'll warn you—if you don't have a compelling reason, you'd best stay far away from them."

"It's a matter of life and death," Varina answered firmly. "Without their help, I doubt I'll live much longer."

Kaspars didn't ask further questions. He simply said, "Wait here," before limping out of the billiards room once more.

As the door closed behind him, Varina exhaled deeply.

So far, so good.

Every step Varina had taken today had carried a degree of risk. When entering the bar, he had worried about whether Kaspars even existed. Upon meeting him, he had been unsure if Kaspars knew "the old man." And after securing the gun, he'd been concerned whether Maric and Miss Sharron, the pair he sought, were still around.

It seemed his concerns had been unnecessary.

Over ten minutes later, Kaspars returned, finding Varina seated on a slightly grimy sofa, sipping his drink slowly.

"Follow me. He's agreed to meet you."

The two passed by the boxing ring and made their way to a card room near the bar's kitchen. After knocking and receiving permission to enter, they stepped inside.

The scene before Varina matched the description from the original work: Maric, with his pale complexion, sat playing cards with a dozen equally pallid zombies.

Kaspars closed the door and left. The thirty-something Maric stepped forward, his gaze filled with an unsettling malice as he scrutinized Varina.

"What kind of help are you seeking?"

Instead of answering, Varina opted to demonstrate.

He moved a few steps to the side, crouching down in the shadow cast by the room's light. A simple movement, but one that drastically reduced his presence, making him nearly undetectable within the shadows.

Of course, this effect only worked on ordinary people, not Beyonders like Maric.

"I see," Maric said after observing the display, nodding slightly. "Now, tell me—how much do you know?"

Varina stood back up and replied, "I've learned through certain channels that my condition is referred to as being a 'half-Beyonder.' If I don't become a full Beyonder soon, I'll likely die within a short time."

"And to become a full Beyonder, I need to find a potion."

"That's about all I know."

Maric picked up a glass from a nearby zombie and took a sip before explaining, "Your information is mostly accurate. But potions aren't simply 'found.' You need to acquire their formulae and materials, then concoct them yourself and consume them immediately."

He continued, "Potions have a hierarchical structure, starting from Sequence 9 and progressing upward: 9, 8, 7, 6, and so on. Ordinary people can only handle Sequence 9 potions. Consuming the wrong one is worse than poison—it's a death sentence."

"Each Sequence 9 potion belongs to a distinct pathway. Once you choose one, you're locked into that path. Any other potion would be as deadly as drinking pure venom."

After this brief introduction to the potion system, Maric's expression turned serious as he delivered a warning:

"Your case is even more unique."

"You have no choice. You must consume a Sequence 9 potion that aligns with the traits you just demonstrated, or the dangers within you will consume you."

"Specifically, you'll need the formula for the Assassin potion. Typically, it's worth around 200 pounds."

With that, Maric fell silent.

Varina removed his flat cap and bowed slightly, his voice filled with anticipation:

"Then, sir, do you happen to have the formula I need?"

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