Chapter 50
Edward Moriarty
The fire in the fireplace crackled. Sherlock, who had draped a thick wool coat over himself, slowly opened his eyes.
His nearly amber-brown pupils gradually focused, becoming sharper.
With a deep, forceful inhale, Sherlock laboriously sat up from the rocking chair with a creak.
He got up and used the chemical equipment on the table to boil himself a cup of water with trembling hands. Once the water reached a mere thirty to forty degrees, just enough to take off the chill of the winter morning, he added three heaping spoonfuls of honey.
After drinking it all in one go, he closed his eyes in silence, standing erect.
He seemed to be savoring the taste of the honey water, or perhaps rapidly recovering his strength.
After a while, he slowly opened his eyes. Sherlock Hermes, always calm and collected, had finally returned completely.
“Why am I third?”
he murmured, “Besides ‘Bone Sculpture,’ who else could have a higher score than me? Fox, or Coco?”
After some thought, he decided to set aside this doubt for now.
He immediately began to ponder another matter:
“In that scene just now, whose pale, emaciated hand was that? And who was that fat man?”
“The illusions displayed during the settlement are always important scenes related to the mission, arranged in chronological order of events. ‘Fox’s’ suicide determined our victory, and that happened afterwards…”
“Was that fat man the murderer? If so, whose white hand was that?”
There were only two possibilities.
Either Bone Sculpture or Coco. Both were possible… neither of their full faces appeared in the scene.
But considering “Fox” had two scenes, it meant his score might be higher than Sherlock’s. Then, if Coco was included, there wouldn’t be enough spots.
This meant that the person who received the most points for the “kill the murderer” mission was most likely Bone Sculpture.
“—What a dangerous person.”
A First Tier Demon Scholar killing a Second Tier Demon Scholar… his other Path must be at a very high level.
“Lars Graham…”
Sherlock murmured, and retrieved a file from a cabinet behind him.
The lighting in his room was ordinary, the space cramped, and ventilation poor. The air was filled with the scent of a mixture of chemical reagents and dust. Ritual materials, books, and various scrolls were scattered across the bookshelves and tables.
Though it appeared chaotic, he knew where everything was. At least, he could always find things easily himself.
He pulled out the file and went to the window, squinting to read it carefully.
“Born February 29, 1824… he’s 74 years old.”
An Iris person, born in the town of Higvell. His father was a baker, and his mother a seamstress.
“At the age of 14, he began studying sculpture under Master Albert Adelaide. At 18, he stepped onto The Path of Beauty. In 1814, his master passed away, and he was recommended to further his studies at Citadel University. At 28, he was hired as an instructor at Citadel University.
“At 34, he held his first sculpture exhibition. By 38, he was known as a master, and at 46, he became the vice dean of Citadel University Art College…”
Sherlock muttered as he quickly reviewed the information in his hand.
His gaze then fell to the middle of the third page:
“…In 1893, he was invited to Avalon to sculpt a sacred statue for Queen Sophia. This work was completed in February 1896.
“…In 1895, he became a specially appointed art professor at the Seminary of Royal Law University, teaching ‘General Aesthetics.’ He resigned from this position in June 1898.”
Five years ago, he traveled from Iris to Avalon to sculpt a sacred statue for the Queen, who foresaw her impending death. That was his last job.
Three years ago… Before the sacred statue was completed, he began teaching aesthetics at the Seminary. He only taught for three years.
Even though the scene had only flashed by.
Sherlock saw very clearly that the white maiden’s ghost was wearing the Seminary’s uniform.
“…Interesting.”
Although the investigation of the missing person remained, it was now more or less confirmed.
This person was troublesome to deal with. As an international public figure, and a foreigner at that… he needed concrete evidence for conviction. And likely, he could only be punished with expulsion.
But if his adherence to the Path of Twilight could be verified, dealing with him might be much simpler.
“Bone Sculpture is not easily dealt with for now. As for Fox…”
Sherlock muttered, “Who are you?”
The report for Her Majesty the Queen was not urgent.
He wanted to first verify the information provided by Fox and determine Fox’s stance based on the results.
So, Sherlock pondered for a moment, sat down at his desk, and began drawing and writing. It was a map of the Lloyd District, and he was calculating the location of that abandoned chemical plant.
Then, Sherlock suddenly picked up the phone on his desk, spinning the heavy dial with one hand.
The phone rang twice before being answered immediately.
“Good morning, Edward.”
Sherlock held the receiver between his neck and shoulder, continuing to sketch on the map, and spoke at an extremely rapid pace, “My dear partner, I hope you are awake— I mean, not woken by me, but naturally awake. Yes, I need to see you about something— Yes, it’s troublesome. So I need your help, and it’s urgent. Please come to me immediately. I can treat you to breakfast, your choice of location.
“—Yes, in the Lloyd District. It’s called ‘Sweater Brotherhood,’ does that ring a bell?”
At this moment.
In the Red Queen District, the Inspection Department office.
Chief Inspector Edward Moriarty was answering the phone with his left hand, which was clad in a white glove.
He had jet-black short hair, neatly combed back. His somewhat angular face was framed by dark eyes, deep as the abyss.
Compared to his siblings, Edward’s appearance was more ordinary. His cheekbones were slightly high, and his face was square, giving him an air of righteousness.
He leaned back in his seat, wearing the inspector’s signature black suit, reminiscent of mourning attire. His physique was robust, effortlessly filling out the suit. The outer coat only reached his waist, while his lower body was clad in well-fitting black trousers and black leather shoes. A white handkerchief peeked from his breast pocket. His left hand wore a white glove, while his right hand was bare. His knuckles and bones were exceptionally distinct, conveying a sense of strength.
Edward’s expression was clearly displeased, yet he did not hang up the phone.
After all, this was his close friend, his classmate… his most reliable old partner.
Chief Inspector Moriarty’s bare right hand slowly traced across the paper.
It was a long list of names—meaning “pending inspection.”
“Sweater Brotherhood…”
Edward murmured introspectively, squinting as he tried to recall, “I’ve heard that name, but I don’t have a strong impression of it.”
His voice was deep and magnetic, conveying a sense of reliability and calm.
“They should be a gang related to the Strangler Gang. They got that name because, in their impoverished past, they were entirely supported by the current leader’s mother, who made them each a similar set of knitted sweaters. Later, when they formed a gang, they adopted the sweater as their organization’s name.
“What, did they offend you? Or are you looking to bribe them to work for you?”
“—According to reliable intelligence, they may be connected to the powers behind the Pelican Bar. And I’ve obtained intelligence on their gathering place.”
From the other end of the line, Sherlock’s slightly distorted voice came through, “So I’m inviting you to investigate with me. I do have some concerns; if this information is true, then there are potentially fatal risks involved for me.”
Upon hearing this, Edward’s brow furrowed slightly.
Within his dark pupils, dazzling silvery-white light gradually gathered and shone.
“Truly?”
Edward said sternly, “You know who is behind them.”
“About sixty percent. After all, I haven’t had time to verify it yet,” Sherlock replied.
“Your sixty percent is already quite high, Hermes. I believe you.”
“Then come to my place and gather, Chief Inspector. Bring your sidearm and white gloves.”
“Alright, see you soon.”
Edward said crisply and hung up the phone.
He buckled a beautiful white short pistol to his waist and also attached two elven-style silver short swords.
Then, Edward took out the white whistle necklace from his collar and blew it forcefully.
The white whistle made no sound, but after a moment, the sound of griffon wings flapping could be heard from beyond the floor-to-ceiling window.
He opened the window and let in his black griffon mount, allowing it to eat something first.
After it had eaten, he prepared to ride the griffon to Sherlock’s home.
At this moment, a knock sounded at his office door.
“—Please deliver the report to Deputy Chief Asad.”
Edward’s cold voice commanded, “Go to Madame Red for material approval. I have to go out.”
“It’s me, Edward.”
His foster father—James Moriarty’s gentle, soft voice came from the doorway.
Edward’s eyebrows rose, and his ice-like stern and cool demeanor softened slightly.
He immediately stepped forward to open the door.
Because he was much taller than his foster father, he slightly bowed and his tone softened, “Father, is something wrong? Coming to see me so early.”
“You’re going out?”
The polite old gentleman glanced at the griffon eating in the room, adjusted the brim of his hat, and made a gentle joke, “Coincidentally, I also have to take a short trip.”
“A trip? How far?”
“I’m going to the Church. I originally intended for Oswald to go in my stead, but upon reflection, a matter of this importance requires me to go myself. I should be back in about two weeks. Take care of your brother and sister during this time.”
Old James said gently, “Oh, and by the way. Eivass is returning to school, so remember to make arrangements for him.”
“No problem, Father.”
The silent and stern youth nodded slightly, “I’ll be staying at home during this period to protect Eivass and Yulia’s safety.”
“Good. The Glass Island is going to be in turmoil… One more thing,” Old James added slowly, “Tie up the loose ends regarding the Pelican Bar incident and clean up the clues. This matter ends here. If anyone else tries to investigate, make them quiet down.”
“…Yes.”
“Oh, right.”
Old James suddenly asked, “Have you found that letter I asked you to look for earlier?”
“Yes, we haven’t,” Edward replied. “A lot of items that should have been on the second corpse are missing. Along with her ‘Noble Red’.”
“Eivass must have taken it with him,” Old James said gently. “After all, Veronica’s ‘Noble Red’ is also in your brother’s hands. If that’s the case, then forget about finding the letter.”
“Father,” Edward couldn’t help but ask, “Which minister is in contact with the society… can you tell me? If I know nothing, how can I protect Eivass?”
“Shhh…”
Old James smiled and raised a finger to his lips.
Edward immediately fell silent.
The old man slowly said, “If Eivass is to face danger because of his own sense of justice and curiosity, then let him resolve it himself. Just last night, I sensed the aura of the Dream Realm. Eivass has begun his first Advancement Ritual… that child finally has some secrets of his own, and I am pleased.”
He squinted his somewhat cloudy gray pupils and said slowly, “As for the spy matter, I advise you not to know. Secrets are a form of power. But secrets in your hands are not yet a sharp blade; they will only become shackles on your thoughts.”
“Father…”
“—Soon. Edward, soon. I will entrust all of this to you eventually… but it’s far from now.”
“…And now? What should I do now?”
Edward was silent for a moment, then added, “Besides wrapping up the mess at the Pelican Bar…”
“Now you should go and do what you were planning to do. Aren’t you going out anyway?”
The old man, who never got angry, squinted, patted the tall Edward’s shoulder, and smiled kindly, “But remember to eat something. Skipping breakfast is bad for your stomach.”
