Chapter 110
Sherlock’s Funeral
Sunday’s weather was accommodating, with a timely, fine drizzle falling from early morning. Avalon’s climate was warm and humid. Although it was winter, snow was rare. The rain wasn’t heavy; one could stand in it for half an hour and still not get completely soaked. Nevertheless, many black umbrellas were still held aloft at the funeral site.
Given Sherlock’s current achievements, he was not yet worthy of being interred in St. Genevieve’s Chapel. Instead, this was a private family cemetery of the Hermes Family, located in the Metropolitan Area near the White Queen District. Even Eivass, in a rare display, was wearing a black suit. His legs were covered by a thick black cloth with a fine white knit pattern, and he held a bouquet of flowers. He sat with his head bowed, proper and quiet, his upper face completely obscured by the black umbrella and the rain. Lily, accompanying Eivass and holding the umbrella for him, wore a simple black dress with minimal ornamentation. She had gathered her thick, dense flaxen curly hair and hidden it beneath a wide-brimmed black hat.
The clergyman on the stage was not Bishop Mathers, but an old bishop Eivass did not recognize. His hair and beard were disheveled and flecked with white, and he had a large amount of hair. The old bishop wore thick glasses on stage, struggling to read the text on the lectern before him as he slowly recited. These were accounts of Sherlock’s life and pre-written scriptures. As a priest of the Path of Devotion, to be so aged indicated a fearsome age. This also meant he was very senior with high status, not someone an ordinary person could easily invite.
However, by all rights, the Hermes Family should have invited Bishop Mathers. Bishop Mathers, as a Spiritual Council member, the highest bishop of the Great Cathedral of the Candle Holder, and the highest administrator of the Church of the Nine Pillars God within Avalon, was the highest-ranking cleric they could possibly summon. But he had clearly declined, thus falling to this elder, whose age made him feel like he was crumbling, to preside over Sherlock’s funeral.
—However, Eivass mused, the real reason Bishop Mathers didn’t come was likely because he feared he couldn’t keep a straight face. If he were to burst out laughing at Sherlock’s “corpse,” it would likely cause trouble, so he didn’t dare to come.
At this moment, the giant coffin behind the old bishop was open, revealing a lifelike “Sherlock” lying within. Three pillars stood beside it, with white flames burning quietly on top. Beside the “corpse” in the coffin, a delicate silver box was placed, inlaid with tiny rubies and emeralds. This in the coffin was, of course, not Sherlock, nor was it an illusion or doll meticulously crafted by Mycroft. It was, quite simply, an ordinary wax figure. After all, Sherlock had died in an explosion, and the attendees could imagine the horrific state of his demise. Therefore, it was a perfectly reasonable decision for the Hermes Family to have Sherlock cremated and then commission a wax figure for the funeral to maintain the deceased’s dignity.
However, a lifelike wax figure crafted in just one or two days was certainly beyond the skill of an ordinary wax sculptor. It would require a Preserver from the Twilight Path. While finding a Preserver in Avalon was difficult, it was not so for the Hermes Family. Mycroft Hermes, Sherlock Holmes’s own elder brother and the current sole “Minister” of the Hermes Family, was a Preserver.
Queen Sophia was understanding. Years ago, Sir Arthur was framed, lost his position as Minister, and his reputation still hadn’t fully recovered. Yet he was innocent… Because of this, the Queen chose to compensate Arthur’s children by granting them higher authority. Just as Sherlock could walk the Path of Wisdom, his brother Mycroft could walk the Twilight Path. In addition to being an Arbitrator, Mycroft was also studying the Preservation Technique of the Twilight Path.
Preservation Technique was a broad Mystical Art. It was not so much a technique as it was a concept. It involved creating wax figures, models, or specimens; long-term preservation of corpses and food; or the long-term preservation of items prone to deterioration over time such as contracts, evidence, wills, agreements, documents, and paintings. It even included techniques for rapid wound hemostasis or helping those nearing death to persevere. The ability to “ensure a situation does not deteriorate further” was the extensive knowledge a Preserver was meant to master.
And the wax figure currently substituting for Sherlock Holmes’s corpse was personally crafted by Mycroft. It was said that when he saw Sherlock’s body, he was so overwhelmed that it left a deep impression in his mind. Therefore, without direct reference, he could create a substitute corpse for the funeral using only the residual memory. If guests stood a little further away, they wouldn’t be able to tell if it was indeed the genuine article in the coffin—a corpse and a living person are already quite different, let alone one with closed eyes and a pale complexion.
“…Thus, his spirit shall evaporate into fire, and his soul shall return to the Great Cathedral of the Candle Holder. He shall drink the blood of the Candle Holder, and his sins shall be borne by the Candle Holder.” The old bishop’s eulogy was drawing to a close. He trembled and staggered as he recited, “We implore the God of Holy Number Three, the God of Sin Thorns Binding the Body, the God of Burning Body and Chasing Darkness—the Doe of the Candle Holder, please protect his spirit. As you protect the smallest candle flame in this world, as you guard the faintest glimmer of light.”
With that, he slowly tapped his Episcopal Crown three times. The old bishop softly chanted, “May the candlelight before his tomb burn eternally.”
“—May his candlelight burn eternally.” All the guests present lowered their heads, chanting in unison and tapping three times on their chests. With this, the main proceedings of the funeral were concluded.
Afterward, someone would close the coffin and bury it in the earth, followed by the priest blessing the land. Those who came with flowers could then proceed to lay them. Those who were merely attending the funeral could now leave or mingle freely and converse. Under the black umbrellas, Eivass noticed Sherlock’s mother, who was in a wheelchair, finally unable to suppress her sobs. Unlike Eivass, she appeared haggard and gaunt-faced. A middle-aged man with black-rimmed glasses and sharp short black hair was softly comforting her from beside her.
—When this is over, you should have your mother beat you soundly to vent her anger, Eivass thought.
“Leave the flowers to me,” a steady voice said. “Your health isn’t too good, Mr. Eivass.” Eivass looked up, his black umbrella tilting slightly backward. Then, a broad, plump hand, like a seal’s flipper, extended from under the umbrella and gently took the bouquet he was holding.
“Mr. Mycroft.” Eivass nodded slightly, greeting the newcomer. This was the person Sherlock trusted most, his elder brother, Mycroft Hermes. Eivass estimated Sherlock’s height to be around 1.83 meters, only half an inch taller than himself. But Mycroft was nearly 1.9 meters, not much different from Edward. Mycroft was not only taller than Sherlock but also considerably more robust. This only Minister of the Hermes Family was not just portly; he was visibly obese, and his face was broader as well. Even the umbrella he held was larger than those of others.
Despite this, the corpulent Mr. Mycroft did not appear unsightly. Eivass could clearly discern traces of Sherlock’s features on his face—even with the generous padding of fat, the imprint of his deep-set features was still visible. Mycroft had the same black hair and wolf-like amber eyes. His eyes were bright and alert, seemingly always deep in thought. Though he appeared very fat, his body did not seem clumsy. When he walked, his quiet steps gave a sense of agility and precision; holding such a large umbrella with one hand without a tremor demonstrated his balanced and solid strength.
“I’ve heard about you from Sherlock,” Mycroft said, holding the bouquet in his free hand, his gaze towards Eivass filled with meaning. “He trusted you a great deal.”
“I am proud and honored to have such a friend,” Eivass said softly, a subtle sorrow showing on his face. “He was an intelligent and upright man. Loyal to the Kingdom, loyal to the Queen… But I never thought his intelligence would ultimately be his downfall.”
“I don’t see it that way, Mr. Eivass. I believe intelligence is never wrong,” Mycroft said calmly. “As the victim, Sherlock was entirely blameless, without any fault—the fault clearly lies with those despicable thugs.” Although he knew Sherlock was faking his death, Mycroft did not put on a display of sorrow. He appeared very calm, as if this were not his brother’s funeral, but that of a stranger he had never met. Given Sherlock’s high regard for him, Mycroft shouldn’t have been unaware of such things. Therefore, it could only be another scenario—Mycroft was always like this, out of sync with everyone else.
“Rather than silencing him, I’m inclined to believe this was a vile act of revenge,” Eivass said.
“What do you think it originated from?” Mycroft asked in return.
“The Sweater Brotherhood,” Eivass said softly, lowering his head. “To be precise, it was the alchemical bomb smuggling case uncovered by this matter. Sherlock, who was investigating the bombs, was killed by them… I believe this is a high-profile provocation. In that sense, this might just be the beginning.”
“—Yes, that’s not impossible.” At that moment, a steady voice sounded from beside them. Eivass looked up, and Lily raised her umbrella a bit higher, allowing him to see the person more clearly. This man appeared to be at least fifty years old, with noticeable wrinkles and nasolabial folds on his face. Yet, even so, his hair had not turned white. His golden hair was slicked back neatly in a pompadour, not looking messy even in the rain. His pupils were not the amber-brown of his complexion, but a light gray-blue. He was not holding an umbrella and looked somewhat haggard with grief. Although he wore black clothing, Eivass still recognized him… it was the lawyer in the white suit he had seen at the award ceremony.
—York Hermes, legal counsel for the Lloyd Society!
“…Uncle York.” Mycroft first glanced at Eivass, then nonchalantly turned and hugged York deeply. York also looked sad, hugging the unmanageable Mycroft tightly and patting his back vigorously. “My condolences, my child. Sherlock was a good lad. Him dying like this… it’s such a shame.” Lawyer York sighed softly. “I wanted him to join the Lloyd Society. If he had joined, he would have had protection… those people would never have dared to lay a hand on him.” At that moment, Lily tilted her head slightly. She caught a flicker of killing intent from Mycroft, but the aura vanished in an instant, as if it were a mere illusion. And the fat man still seemed to possess a gentle, benevolent, and friendly demeanor.
“The Lloyd Society?” Just then, Eivass interjected at the opportune moment with a question. “Isn’t that in the Lloyd District…?”
“—It’s merely an association of insurers from the Lloyd District. We are not a company; we merely provide a place for conversation, a purely civilian commercial organization,” York Hermes continued, responding to Eivass’s unfinished sentence. Eivass then showed a puzzled expression. “But I heard the Lloyd Society is an organization that provides usury…”
“It’s not usury. Our loan interest rates are entirely within the limits set by the Kingdom’s laws,” Lawyer York replied. As he spoke, he handed Eivass an ornate business card made of gold paper. “Although you may have heard some rumors, I must say they are not true. They are merely rumors spread by the jealous… I am Lawyer York Hermes, hired as the legal consultant for the Lloyd Society, and Sherlock’s uncle. We met last week—I am Gordon’s friend, sitting next to him. The person to your right, and then to his right… do you remember me?”
“I remember, Mr. York. I also heard Sherlock mention you.” Hearing this, Eivass seemed to realize, and a hint of friendliness and trust appeared in his eyes.
“What did he say?” York paused and asked. Eivass’s gaze was pure and earnest, devoid of any distracting thoughts. “He said you were a kind person who made friends easily.”
“Alas… thank you for his assessment. It is truly regrettable; Sherlock was also a very promising young man…” Lawyer York lamented. He genuinely felt it was a pity. Mid-sentence, he glanced at Mycroft beside him, hesitating as if he had something to say but it was inconvenient to speak at a funeral. Eivass acted as if he understood and nodded to Mycroft. “Let’s talk again next time, Mycroft. Please convey my condolences to Sherlock. I have something I wish to discuss with Mr. York. I still find Sherlock’s attack rather suspicious.
“Yes, Sherlock left some words for Mr. Eivass before he passed. It’s not convenient here,” Lawyer York nodded, warmly beckoning Eivass. “Aren’t you curious about the Lloyd Society? —Coincidentally, I’ll show you around. Let’s talk at the Lloyd Society headquarters.”
I’ve read some of the comments and reflected. Taking leave when entering a dungeon instance is indeed problematic; it can be agonizingly urgent. However, I’m also a bit worried about my body holding up… This year’s summer has been too sweltering; even staying in air-conditioned rooms, I feel like I can’t breathe. But having taken just one day off, it feels awkward to take another. So, Cat came up with a plan: take two half-days off! Forcefully accelerate the sleep-wake cycle! Yesterday afternoon, I held out until 5:30 PM to sleep, and woke up at 1:30 AM today. If I hold out until 7-8 PM tonight, I should wake up at an or normal time tomorrow morning! This is called “Yin turning to Yang”! I’ll be posting a single chapter today, only over four thousand words. But at least there’s an update to read! Tomorrow will likely also be a single chapter, but I should be able to resume normal updates by the day after tomorrow. Also, Guan Guan is holding an event in the review section, so I’ll promote it~
