Almost instinctively, Klein bent his knees, twisted his waist, and rolled in the other direction, toward the door of the bathroom.
Whoosh!
A small black-feathered arrow stuck into the sink, its head seemingly made of bone, glistening with a blue tint—quite a pretty sight.
If Klein had hesitated even a moment, he wouldn't have escaped the sudden attack!
Pausing his roll, Klein reached into his pocket, trying to pull out a few Tarot cards.
But at that moment, he felt a gust of wind; out of the corner of his eye, he saw a black figure approaching at high speed, closing in with superhuman speed, right up to him, and with an arched foot, kicked from below.
Seeing he couldn't dodge, Klein abandoned that plan, raised his elbow, and blocked the strike.
Bam! His entire left arm went numb instantly, and his body was uncontrollably thrown back, like in the squash that the middle class loved or the football popular among the lower laborers.
So much force! Klein's heart tightened, but he didn't panic; in midair he twisted his body, changed his posture, and barely managed to keep his balance, like an acrobat.
Thud! Thud, thud… Just then, the bark-colored blowpipe finally hit the bathroom floor, bounced toward the door, slowing down.
Klein was about to straighten up and stand firm for the next attack, when another image flashed through his mind: The enemy in black moved faster than he'd imagined, arriving sooner, sinking his waist and swinging his arm, punching Klein right in the chest.
In an instant, Klein curled up again, spun an extra half-turn, like a ball that kept falling and being tossed.
Thud!
Upside down, he pressed his hands to the floor, his legs spread like scissors, and the black-clothed man's punch, missing everything, passed through the gap and smashed the air.
The punch originally aimed at the chest, after Klein reversed his body, could only hit his legs, and legs could be spread.
With a push and a shove, pulling his legs in, Klein agilely leaped to the side and finally stood steady.
Thud!
Before he could get a good look at his enemy, the black figure turned sideways and leaned in, bringing a strong whoosh of wind.
So fast! Klein quickly raised his arms in front of him.
With a dull thud, it felt like being hit by a black bear; unable to withstand the overwhelming force, he staggered backward, his arms nearly going numb.
At the same time, Klein finally recognized who his attacker was.
Dark-skinned, lean and sinewy, with deep-set eyes—it was the "Executioner" of the Zymange gang, Mersault, the same Mersault who had come looking for Detective Moriarty in the morning!
Thwack thwack thwack! Mersault's eyes blazed fiercely as he pressed forward, swinging his arms in left hooks and right swings, unleashing a storm of attacks.
Klein was clearly outmatched in strength; he couldn't block head-on and only managed to dodge this barrage of punches thanks to his agility and foresight.
No good! I have to use my strengths! With that thought, Klein gave up trying to fight, dropped low, and rolled out to the side.
Crack! A chair was shattered by Mersault's sweeping kick.
Pushing off with his hands, Klein continued rolling, looking for a chance to get his Tarot cards and homemade charms.
Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!
Mersault caught up quickly, alternating kicks, not much slower than his opponent.
He was like a bear blessed with agility, with no weaknesses, leaving the rolling Klein barely able to dodge and block, completely unable to pull out cards or charms.
Crack, bang, bang!
The chair broke, the table overturned, the coat rack fell; Klein circled most of the way around, and his situation grew more and more precarious.
He couldn't keep this up! He kept dodging, rolling and tumbling, seeking any chance to turn things around.
Suddenly, his peripheral vision caught sight of the coffee table in the living room, and an idea came to him.
Bang! Blocking with one hand and leaping back, Klein endured the pain and rolled toward the living room area.
At that moment, Mersault's leg muscles suddenly bulged, as if inflated.
Stomp! The floor seemed to shake; he leapt forward like a bullet, shot right up to Klein, and swung his leg.
Klein barely blocked and was sent flying again, crashing into the coffee table with a clatter, sending ceramic tea sets flying toward the cabinet, and scattering a pot-bellied pen, standard contracts, and various newspapers across the floor.
Seeing the detective in the black double-breasted long coat weak all over, unable to get up or roll away, Mersault's eyes blazed with ferocity, and amidst the sound of shattering porcelain, he slid forward and drove his knee forward.
Klein's eyes deepened as he watched; he already had a standard contract in his hand.
He had rolled to the living room, ignoring his premonition's warnings, just to grab a standard contract or a newspaper!
Seeing Mersault's knee bearing down fiercely, Klein suddenly flicked his wrist.
At that moment, another image flashed in his mind: Mersault's head tilting back.
Whoosh!
Klein pressed his wrist slightly and flicked the contract out of his hand.
Whoosh!
The contract shot toward Mersault's throat like a dart made of hardened steel. The two were no more than a meter apart, and the distance was shrinking with every advance.