"W-w-w-w-w... Witch of the Tower!!!!"
Once he realized who was speaking to him,
Sherlock, a fat man weighing over six hundred pounds, moved like a nimble monkey.
He sprang straight up from the carpet where he had been lying.
Boom—
The entire house trembled at his movement.
Even the ceiling, decorated with exquisite murals, shed a little dust.
The demon maids huddled together in a corner, shaking.
They were terrified that Sherlock, that "furious fat pig," would take his anger out on them.
There was no helping it.
He could hardly avoid being nervous about something like this.
"Nightmare," whom he had thought long gone, perhaps even dead, was now brazenly sending him voice messages through a Card belonging to one of his clansmen.
Most importantly, her tone was so cheerful.
Yet her words were so provocative.
What did that mean?
It meant she was not really talking to him at all.
She was simply treating him as a joke.
As some stray by the roadside.
Something she could tease however she pleased.
"W-w-w-w-w... Poor Sherlock, have you forgotten how to speak properly?"
Lan Qingyou's mocking voice came through the Card again.
That settled it.
She was messing with him.
Mocking him with her foot planted on the head of a junior from his race.
What!?
Why would he think she was talking to him with "her foot planted on the head of a junior from his race"?
Come on! This was the Witch of the Tower!
The most sinister presence in District 666...
No! The most sinister, cunning, deranged, and arrogant of all the transmigrators!
Now that she had captured him,
could Cohen possibly fare well?
Impossible!
Absolutely impossible!
There was no telling whether Cohen was even still alive.
But if he was, that was probably the sort of