There was nothing else she could do.
It seemed she could only contact that dead fatso Sherlock first.
She would get a conversation going first.
They were old acquaintances, after all.
He should be very happy to hear from her.
With that thought,
like a child about to play a prank,
Lan Qingyou tapped Sherlock's portrait on the Card.
Meanwhile, far away at his base, Sherlock was enjoying a massage from a group of Demon maids with a single horn growing from their heads.
Sherlock was even more "well-rounded" now than when Lan Qingyou had met him a century ago.
He had gone from a fat man weighing over two hundred pounds to one weighing five or six hundred pounds.
That number sounded rather exaggerated.
But it was the truth.
Still, after evolving from a human into a member of the Demon Race with ram horns growing from his head,
that amount of fat was not enough to kill a Demon.
If anything, it was practically a layer of protection.
Back then.
A very long time ago.
He had once been hunted down.
So after that,
especially after becoming a Demon,
he had begun frantically "fattening himself up."
Of course, part of the reason was related to his talents and abilities.
But more than that, it was because of his fragile little heart.
That experience of being killed had taught him many things.
At the same time, it had left him with a deep psychological scar.
So he needed this fat.
He needed this flesh to provide him with physical and mental protection.
Put more simply, his behavior meant, "Because I lack a sense of security, I intend to add another layer of defense."
That was right.
Sherlock lacked a sense of security.
Especially when facing the Black Witch.
So