Seal of the Four-Colored Horse (V)

"An urgent telegram from Tower Hamlets!"

"The bizarre horse-abdomen corpse dumping case has claimed another victim. A buried Shire Horse carcass has been discovered at St. Katharine Docks!"

"What?!"

In the Scotland Yard office, Lestrade shot to his feet, the chair legs scraping harshly across the floor. "Who is the victim?"

He asked urgently, but halfway through, he suddenly changed his mind. "Forget it. I'll go to the scene myself."

St. Katharine Docks, on the eastern side of the north bank of the River Thames.

The horse carcass was cordoned off by police, while several officers busily recorded details from the scene.

St. Katharine Docks was an important trade hub in London, with a considerable flow of people. By now, a crowd of onlookers had gathered beyond the police line, chattering like a flock of restless crows.

Many reporters who had rushed over also pulled out their cameras and snapped away, flashes going off from time to time.

In the muddy ground around the horse carcass, a trail of messy footprints extended from the main road, clearly left by someone hurrying through the wet ground.

Lestrade frowned deeply. He crouched down, his white-gloved fingers lightly brushing the edges of the prints.

"Detective Lestrade, you're finally here."

A young constable jogged over and handed him a report. "These are the results of our on-site investigation."

The pages of the report fluttered gently in the wind.

The victim's death matched those of the previous five victims exactly: death by suffocation, no external injuries, and a terrifying smile frozen at the corners of the mouth.

"Where is the person who first found the horse carcass?"

"Right here, sir."

After two long hours of questioning, Lestrade discovered dejectedly that his notebook was filled with nothing but useless scraps of information.

He irritably tugged open his tie, but the damp sea breeze could not disperse the heaviness in his heart.

"May I see the detailed information on the sixth victim?"

A familiar voice came from behind him.

Lestrade spun around and saw Holmes, who had left London several days ago, standing before him.

The detective stood there looking travel-worn. Mud speckled the hem of his black coat, his usually immaculate tie was crooked, and heavy shadows hung beneath his eyes.

"Why have you suddenly come back?"

Lestrade's voice rose slightly in surprise.

"I had no choice but to return. If we don't catch the murderer soon, all of London may be in trouble."

Hearing this, Lestrade became uncertain and alarmed.

He handed Holmes the victim's file. Just as he was about to say something else, he noticed several fresh wounds on the other's hand.

Lestrade's brow twitched.

After hesitating for a moment, he finally lowered his voice and asked, "What exactly happened? Why are you..."

"I don't have time to explain such trivial matters to you."

Without even looking up, Holmes cut Lestrade off in an almost rude manner.

The detective's face instantly flushed red.

Seeing how seriously the man was studying the documents, he opened his mouth, then closed it again. In the end, he merely let out a heavy sigh and swallowed all his questions.

Holmes's gaze never left the papers.

He turned the pages rapidly and urgently, the sheets rustling between his fingers as he barely paused on any of them for more than a few seconds.

"Whooo—"

In the distance, a cargo ship sounded its horn, its long call echoing over the river.

When Holmes finally stopped, a subtle change came over his expression.

He rubbed his temples and gave Lestrade an apologetic smile. "Please forgive my rudeness. You interrupted my train of thought, and it made me somewhat irritable."

Lestrade looked astonished.

He had not expected Holmes to apologize. After all, his first impression of the man had been that of an arrogant genius.

Still, he magnanimously said it was all right.

"Now, I can tell you everything I have deduced."

Holmes's tone returned to its usual calmness.

"First, the murderer selected the victims with great care. These were not random killings, as you previously believed."

His gaze deepened, and images of the first three victims rose clearly in his mind.

"The first three people to die."

"The scholar publicly declared his support for the war. The merchant dealt in arms. The laborer worked in an armaments factory. All of them made direct or indirect contributions to the Second Anglo-Afghan War, and all of them were sinners in the murderer's eyes."

Lestrade's body jolted, and he nearly dropped the documents in his hand.

The identity of the sixth victim struck his mind like lightning: a retired soldier who had served in the Second Anglo-Afghan War.

So this wasn't a cult?

It sounded more like an anti-government organization.

Then he seemed to spot something that made no sense. "Wait, then what about the Dalmans couple?"

They had found traces of Soul-Soothing Fruit powder at the Inn where Philip Dalmans had stayed, but that appeared to have no connection to the Second Anglo-Afghan War.

"They were indeed not sinners the cult had identified."

Holmes looked toward the River Thames, the rippling reflections on its surface flickering in his eyes.

"But someone connected to them escaped an extremely important ritual of the Sunset Church. To those cultists, that was the most unforgivable sin of all."

"Killing the Dalmans couple, who were connected to that sinner, was their means of forcing the fugitive out."

At this point, Holmes turned back to Lestrade. "The ritual was originally interrupted when the fourth sacrifice escaped, but now it has resumed."

"That is because someone altered the essence of the ritual."

"It changed from blaspheming God to summoning God. Those mad cultists do not even know they are being used."

Holmes did not speak quickly, but the amount of information was overwhelming.

Lestrade could barely keep up with his line of reasoning.

"The ritual must be stopped. Fortunately, we still have a chance to prevent it. North London Tower, Southwark Cathedral, East St. Katharine Docks, West Paddington Station."

"The inverted cross formed by those four corpse-dumping sites has its center at..."

Holmes's eyes became razor-sharp.

"London Bridge!"

At that very moment, on Jersey Island thousands of miles away.

A disheveled old man knelt in a damp sea cave, his cracked lips uttering the same place Holmes had named. "London Bridge! It's London Bridge!"

The old man's trembling hand seized Ye Yan's, dirt packed beneath his fingernails.

"Their gathering place is in one of the maze-like narrow alleys across the bridge." Fear filled his hoarse voice. "There are many pickpockets and prostitutes there. I once saw them use prostitutes' corpses to make monsters that could move."

"Ewan, my dear nephew."

"Thank you for coming to find me, for remembering me."

The old man suddenly embraced Ye Yan, murky tears streaming freely down his wrinkled face. "Let's leave England, leave France, and flee to the New Continent, all right?"

"I was a bastard before. I shouldn't have borrowed money and refused to repay it. I shouldn't have tried to jump into the sea and kill myself when I was desperate, much less let a group of mad cultists save me."

With every word of confession, his voice choked more heavily. "I've already caused Philip's death, and I nearly got you killed too. This must all be God's punishment for me!"

Ye Yan silently patted the old man's trembling body.

The sea wind slipped in through the cracks, stirring the other's tangled gray-white hair.

"Don't worry."

The old man raised his head and wiped away his snot and tears with his filthy sleeve. "Even if it costs me the rest of my life, Uncle Jules will make sure you survive this time."

[Your actions have caused a certain possibility of a Corpse Mover to deviate from its path. Soul Essence acquired: Grail]

[The part of us that walks in dreams.]

[You have successfully collected a Fragment of Inside and Outside!]

At the same time.

On the Compass, a second silver thread pointing toward "home" quietly emerged, lying parallel to the silver thread that belonged to the detective.