Lex carefully observed the lady in front of him.
She was likely around twenty-seven or twenty-eight, and her skin was very well-maintained; although not as smooth and tender as a young girl's, it was at least quite clear.
She had a pair of beautiful green eyes, like high-quality emeralds, sparkling with a bright Light.
Her figure was quite good; compared to a young girl, she was slightly fuller, especially the area below her neckline, which invited contemplation.
Her legs were slender, straight, and gracefully curved. From any angle, this was a woman with mature charm.
It was precisely the season for picking.
But!
To extend such an invitation to a stranger he had known for less than a day… This woman was either love-struck or had ulterior motives.
And no matter which it was, he wouldn't fall for it!
Lex's lips naturally curved upwards, forming a polite, 'I'm dying of laughter' smile: "I'm very sorry, madam. After returning tonight, I promised to tell my eight-year-old daughter a bedtime story."
Helen said with a faint smile: "It's alright, one drink won't take much time. Even if we do something special after a drink, it would at most take a dozen minutes, it won't delay you telling your child a story."
Are the women in this world all so open-minded?
Now I somewhat understand the Emperor's feelings, but I don't have time to do the same things as the Emperor, after all, the Apocalypse might be just around the corner.
Also, 'a dozen minutes'? Who are you looking down on!
Lex cleared his throat: "Madam, let's focus on work. I already have a plan, it's like this..."
A day quickly passed.
As the streetlights came on, a rented carriage stopped in front of Helen's house. The door opened, and a woman in a black gown, wearing a satin-ribboned bonnet, slipped into the carriage.
Subsequently, the coachman driving the carriage and the assistant, wearing a top hat and carrying a briefcase, sat side by side.
Not being alone with an unmarried woman was the proper demeanor for every gentleman. Therefore, although the front compartment had limited space, the coachman still squeezed in with the assistant without complaint.
Soon, the carriage left Green Emerald Street. It headed towards the south district of Tingen, winding through the city until it reached a relatively quiet side road.
Just as he stepped onto this silent path with almost no pedestrians, suddenly, the coachman saw some debris piled up ahead, blocking the way.
Just as he was about to turn to find another route, and as the carriage slowed down because of it, on the left side of the path, the door of a terraced house suddenly opened, and a figure emerged from the dark doorway.
Wearing dark long clothes, with a vest and shirt underneath, a wide-brimmed hat, and a red scarf tied around his neck. The man, with deep-set features and sinister eyes, raised his arm.
In his hand, a brass revolver fired at the carriage, shot after shot, as the man approached, shattering the carriage windows and blasting the body of the carriage with flying wood splinters.
The horses were startled, whinnying and rearing up, causing the coachman and assistant in the front seat to cry out and fall off.
As the man spun out the cylinder to reload it, the startled horses pulled the carriage into a lamppost, causing the entire carriage to overturn on the ground.
Seeing this, Berwick's face showed a cruel smile.
He was a killer, a professional killer, and since he had entered this profession, he had never failed.
He believed today would be no exception.
After all, the employer wanted to kill a businesswoman, a woman, which to him was no different from slaughtering a chicken.
He calmly walked up, confident he could get away before the police arrived, but before that, he needed to confirm the target's death.
And, preferably, bring back an item from the target's body to report back to the employer.
He jumped onto the carriage and casually fired a few more shots inside before pulling open the deformed carriage door, hoping to see the scene of the target's demise.
But...
There was nothing in the carriage.
"Is this what you call a killer? You attack rashly without even confirming if the target is in the carriage. I truly feel sad for your teacher; having a student like you must be a stain on his professional career, wouldn't you say?"
"Oh, right, you might not have a teacher, so I can understand why you would act so recklessly and foolishly."
Berwick, standing on the carriage, paused, then saw the coachman, who had been pulling the carriage, glance into the carriage from the side, then face him with an amused expression, brazenly saying irritating things.
My profession doesn't need a coachman to comment on it!
Also, knowing I'm a killer, you still peek into the carriage? Can you please show some respect for my profession!
Berwick raised his arm, responding to the coachman's words with a bullet from his revolver; in his imagination, the coachman would become a dead man in the next moment.
But this damned coachman, the instant he raised his hand, took a quick, long stride to the side, causing him to miss his shot.
Glancing at the sparks scraped up by the bullet on the road, the coachman looked at Berwick with a surprised expression: "Is that your marksmanship? Are you sure you can kill someone with it? Heavens, my eighty-year-old neighbor shoots better than you."
"Damn it!"
"Shut up!"
Berwick fired two more shots at the coachman, but both were dodged by the opponent's preemptive moves.
"No way, no way, are you really a killer? You're not a clown from the circus, are you? Otherwise, how could you not even hit a coachman like me?"
Berwick felt as if hundreds of crows were cawing in his ears, and that this coachman in front of him was incredibly detestable. He was so angry that he didn't even realize his bullets were empty, still pulling the trigger at the coachman.
It wasn't until the sound of an empty gun echoed that he realized no bullets were firing from the muzzle. Seeing the hateful smile on the coachman's face, Berwick directly threw the revolver at him, then pulled a dagger from his leather boot and lunged forward with bloodshot eyes.
At this moment, Berwick saw that the coachman, who had dodged the revolver, now held a golden revolver with a hint of showmanship as he turned back towards him.
How did he have a gun in his hand?
He's not a coachman!
As soon as this thought crossed Berwick's mind, he saw a flash of fire from the muzzle of that revolver, and then the dagger in his hand flew out.
With the second gunshot, he took a bullet to the knee, causing him to fall down and slide towards the coachman.
A foot landed, stepping precisely on Berwick's shoulder as he slid over. He looked up to see the gleaming golden muzzle pointed at him.
The coachman said with a smirk: "Now this is marksmanship. Want to learn? But I won't teach you."
At this moment, Berwick was so furious he almost fainted.
9:30 PM.
Lex escorted Helen to her doorstep, successfully completing his protective duties for the day.
Helen, dressed in neutral attire, leaned against her doorway, looking at the man in coachman's disguise with a hint of languor: "Are you really not coming in for a drink? Tonight, I'm truly so grateful to you."
Lex showed a polite smile and replied: "You've already paid for tonight's protection, so there's no need to thank me for anything."
"It's getting late, get some rest. I'm sure the police will get the employer's information from that killer."
"Therefore, you won't have any more trouble."
"Good night, madam."
Without giving Helen a chance to keep him, Lex turned and left, quickly disappearing at the street corner.
Helen stared blankly in the direction Lex had left, sighing softly: "You still haven't told me your name..."