Edward Moriarty

The fire in the fireplace crackled merrily as Sherlock, draped in a thick wool coat, slowly opened his eyes.

His nearly amber-colored brown pupils gradually focused, becoming sharp.

With a deep, forceful inhale, Sherlock laboriously sat up from the creaking rocking chair.

He rose and used the chemical instruments on the table, his hands trembling slightly, to heat himself a cup of water. He only heated it to about 30 or 40 degrees, just enough to dispel the chill of the winter morning, before adding a full three large spoonfuls of honey.

After drinking it all in one go, he silently closed his eyes, standing ramrod straight.

He seemed to be savoring the taste of the honey water, or perhaps rapidly recovering his strength.

After a good while, he slowly opened his eyes. The always composed Sherlock Holmes had finally fully returned.

"Why am I in third place?"

He murmured softly, "Besides Bone Carver, who else could have a higher score than me? Fox, or Ke Ke?"

After thinking for a moment, he decided to keep this question in mind for now.

He immediately began to think about something else:

"In that scene just now, who did that pale, withered hand belong to? And who was that fat man?

"The visions displayed during the settlement must all be important scenes related to the task. And they are arranged in the order in which things happened. Fox's suicide determined our victory, and that happened later...

"Is that fat man the murderer? If so, who does that white hand belong to?"

There are only two possibilities.

Either Bone Carver, or Ke Ke. Both are possible... their faces did not appear in the picture.

But considering that Fox had two scenes, his score might be higher than Sherlock's. And if Ke Ke is also factored in, there won't be enough room.

That is to say, the person who got the most points for the "kill the murderer" task is likely Bone Carver.

—A truly dangerous person.

Being able to kill a Level Two Demon Scholar with Level One... his other Path is probably very high level.

"Lars Graham..."

Sherlock murmured softly, taking out a file from the cabinet behind him.

The lighting in his room was poor, the space was cramped, and the ventilation was bad. The air was filled with the smell of chemical reagents mixed with dust, and ritual materials, books, and various files were scattered on the shelves and tables.

Although it looked chaotic, he actually knew where different things were placed. At least he could always find them easily.

He pulled out the file, walked to the window, and squinted as he read it carefully.

"Born February 29, 1824... 74 years old."

An Iris person, born in Sigville Town. His father was a baker, and his mother was a seamstress.

"Began studying carving with Master Albert Adelaide at the age of 14, and entered the Path of Beauty at the age of 18. Master A.A. passed away at the age of 23, and he was recommended to study at Cite University. He was hired as a tutor at Cite University at the age of 28.

"Held his first sculpture exhibition at the age of 34, began to be called a master at the age of 38, and became the vice president of the Cite University Art Institute at the age of 46..."

Sherlock murmured softly, quickly reviewing the information at hand.

Then, his gaze focused on the middle of the third page:

"...In 1893, invited to Avalon to carve a holy statue for Queen Sophia. This work was completed in February 1896.

"...In 1895, became a specially appointed art professor at the Seminary of the Royal Law University, teaching 'General Aesthetics.' Resigned from this position in June 1898."

Five years ago, he went from Iris to Avalon to carve a holy statue for the Queen, who sensed her imminent departure. That was his last job.

Three years ago... before the statue was completed, he began teaching aesthetics at the Seminary. And only taught for three years.

Although the image was fleeting.

But Sherlock saw very clearly that the white ghost girl was wearing the Seminary's uniform.

"...Interesting."

Although there was still the verification of the missing person, it was now almost certain.

This person is troublesome to deal with. As an international public figure, and a foreigner... definite evidence is needed to convict him. And probably can only be sentenced to deportation.

But if it can be verified that he has embarked on the Twilight Path, perhaps it will be much easier to deal with.

"The Bone Carver is not easy to move for the time being, the Fox..."

Sherlock murmured softly, "Who are you?"

The report to Her Majesty the Queen is not urgent.

He wants to verify the information given by the Fox first, and then judge the Fox's position based on the results.

So Sherlock thought for a while, sat down at the table and scribbled. 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 the table, rotating the heavy dial on the phone with one hand.

The phone was answered immediately after only ringing twice.

"Morning, Edward."

So Sherlock clamped the microphone between his neck and shoulder, and while continuing to scribble on the map, he said in a very fast voice: "My dear partner, I hope you're already awake—I mean, not woken up by me, but naturally awake. Yes, I need something from you—yes, it's troublesome. So I need your help, urgently. Please come and find me immediately, I can treat you to breakfast, you choose the place.

"—Yes, in the Lloyd District. Called 'Sweater Brotherhood', does that ring a bell?"

At this moment.

Red Queen District, Inspectorate office.

Inspector Edward Moriarty was answering the phone with his left hand, which was wearing a white glove.

He has a head of pure black short hair, neatly combed back. On his somewhat angular face, his black eyes are as deep as an abyss.

Compared to his younger siblings, Edward's appearance is much more ordinary. His cheekbones are slightly high and his face is square. Giving a sense of righteousness.

He leaned back in his seat, wearing the Inspector's signature black suit, like mourning clothes. His physique is strong, so that he can easily fill the suit. The thick coat only reaches to the waist, and the lower body is fitted black trousers and black leather shoes. A corner of a white handkerchief is placed in the pocket on his chest, his left hand is wearing white gloves, while his right hand is bare. The knuckles and bones are unusually clear, giving a sense of strength.

Edward looked obviously unhappy, but he did not take the initiative to hang up the phone.

After all, this is his best friend, his classmate... his most reliable old partner.

Moriarty Inspector-General's ungloved right hand slowly stroked the paper.

On it was a long list of names—which meant "under investigation."

"Sweater Brotherhood..."

Edward murmured in a low voice, squinting his eyes as he recalled, "I've heard the name, but it didn't leave a deep impression."

His voice was deep and magnetic, giving people a reliable and steady feeling.

"That should be a gang of stranglers. They're called that because when they were poor, they relied entirely on the relief from the mother of their current leader, who knitted them a set of sweaters with similar patterns. Later, when they came out to form a gang, they used this sweater as the name of the organization.

"What, did they offend you? Or do you want to bribe them to work for you?"

"—According to reliable sources, they may be related to the mastermind behind the Pelican Bar. And I got information about their gathering place."

From the other end of the phone, Sherlock's somewhat distorted voice came: "So I invited you to investigate with me. I do have some concerns. If this information is true, then there are indeed dangerous factors that could kill me."

Hearing this, Edward frowned slightly.

In the depths of his black pupils, dazzling silver-white brilliance gradually gathered and shone.

"Really?"

Edward said in a deep voice, "You know who's behind them."

"Sixty percent. After all, I haven't had time to verify it yet," Sherlock replied.

"Your sixty percent is already very high, Holmes. I believe you."

"Then come to my house to gather, Inspector-General. Bring your sidearm and white gloves."

"Okay, see you in a bit."

Edward finished speaking crisply and hung up the phone.

He tucked a beautiful white short gun into his waist and hung two Elven Style silver short swords.

Afterwards, Edward took out his white whistle necklace from his collar and blew it hard.

The white whistle did not make any sound, but after a while, the sound of Griffin flapping its wings came from outside the French window.

He opened the window, let his black Griffin mount in, and let it eat something first.

After eating, he prepared to ride the Griffin to Sherlock's house.

At this moment, the door of his office was knocked.

"—Submit the report to Vice Captain Assad."

Edward issued a cold voice: "Go to the Red Lady for material approval. I'm going out."

"It's me, Edward."

His adoptive father—James Moriarty's gentle and soft voice came from the door.

Edward raised his eyebrows, and the iceberg-like stern and cold face relaxed slightly.

He immediately greeted him and opened the door.

Because he was much taller than his adoptive father, he bowed slightly and his tone became gentle: "Father, is there something you need? Coming to find me so early."

"You're going out?"

The polite old gentleman glanced at the Griffin eating in the room, pressed down his hat, and joked gently, "Coincidentally, I also have to take a long trip temporarily."

"A long trip? How far?"

"Going to the Theocracy. I originally wanted Oswald to go for me, but after thinking about it, it's better to make a trip myself for such an important matter. I'll be back in about two weeks. Take care of your younger siblings during this time."

Old James said gently, "Oh, right. Iver is going back to school, remember to arrange it."

"No problem, Father."

The silent and stern young man nodded slightly: "I will live at home during this time to protect the safety of Iver and Yulia."

"Well, that's good. Glass Island is going to be in chaos... There's one more thing," Old James added slowly, "Clean up the Pelican Bar matter, clear the clues. This matter ends here. If anyone wants to continue investigating, let them be quiet."

"...Yes."

"Oh, right."

Old James suddenly asked, "Have you found that letter I asked you to find?"

"No, I haven't."

Edward replied, "Many things that should have been on the second corpse were missing. Even her 'Noble Red' is gone."

"That should have been taken away by Iver."

Old James said gently, "After all, Veronica's 'Noble Red' is also in your brother's hands. In that case, don't bother looking for the letter."

"Father," Edward couldn't help but ask, "Which minister is in contact with the Society... Can you tell me? If I don't know anything, I can't protect Iver, can I?"

"Shhh..."

Old James smiled, raised a finger to his lips.

Edward immediately fell silent.

And the old man said slowly: "If Iver is going to be in danger because of his own justice and curiosity, then let him solve it himself. Just last night, I observed the aura of the Dream Realm. Iver has begun his first advancement ritual... That child is finally starting to have some secrets of his own, I am very satisfied."

He squinted his somewhat cloudy gray pupils, and said slowly: "As for the spy, I advise you not to know. Secrets are a kind of power. But secrets in your hands cannot become a blade, they will only become shackles of thought."

"Father..."

"—Soon. Edward, soon. I will give it all to you sooner or later... but not now."

"...Then what about now? What should I do now?"

Edward was silent for a while, and added: "Besides cleaning up the Pelican Bar..."

"Now you should do what you wanted to do before. Aren't you just about to go out?"

The old man, who would never get angry, squinted his eyes, patted the tall Edward on the shoulder, and smiled kindly: "But remember to eat something. It's not good for your stomach if you don't eat breakfast."