Chapter 72: Antique Revolver |
“Yes, it’s definitely a man.”
As he spoke, Father August revealed a slightly awkward expression:
“A Six-Ring Warlock, originally named Jack Deon, male. That ring capable of enabling gender transformation reportedly comes from the 【Blood Spirit Sect】 you mentioned. They’re always skilled in the flesh-related mystical arts and possess numerous bizarre relics. Damn it, those lunatics fled to the New Continent, yet they still manage to cause us trouble.”
The professors at St. Byrons had mentioned that the ancient organization 【Blood Spirit Sect】 was hunted down by the Five True God Churches.
“The Church was aware of his infiltration into Tobesk City for some time and suspected he was hiding at the Nightingale Club, which you had also mentioned. However, we didn’t expect he could entirely change his appearance, which is why the Church couldn’t locate him. As for his connection with Mr. Lawrence, it’s unclear whether it was the influence of the 【relic】 ring distorting his preferences or some other reason.”
“Relics can even distort…preferences?”
Shad asked, and the old priest showed a look of regret:
“Relics can warp any aspect of human personality or thoughts depending on their effect. For instance, if a 【relic】 could turn excrement into food… No, forget it. Even I can’t continue that thought.”
Both he and Shad adjusted their expressions before the priest warned the detective:
“But the doctor may not know that the Church’s Warlock team is here. Should we inform him?”
As they discussed, the sound of young women laughing came from the garden path opposite the statue. The old priest and the young detective immediately diverted to a path behind the statue.
“Bill might indeed be unaware,” Father August pondered, then looked at Shad.
“I just saw Luvia earlier. I thought she, like me, was simply invited here by coincidence, but she must be here to assist the doctor. Since Lasso has entered the Lakeside Manor, don’t go near it. Head to the courtyard ahead to find Luvia and inform her of the situation. I’ll go into the manor to find the doctor. If he’s not in the garden, he’s likely preparing inside.”
“Understood, no problem.”
Shad nodded solemnly. Father August then asked:
“Do you have any 【relics】 or spellcasting materials on you?”
“Yes.”
He patted his pocket.
“Good. But unless absolutely necessary, do not use a Warlock’s power in front of ordinary people. Detective Hamilton, be careful.”
“You too, Father August. By the way, my luck seems to be exceptionally good tonight.”
He sought insight from the old priest, but Father August clearly didn’t grasp the extent of Shad’s fortune.
“The gifts of fate always come at a price, Detective. Warlocks cannot rely on luck.”
The two then parted ways, hurrying because they didn’t know how far the situation had progressed.
After exiting the garden maze, Shad rounded the path’s end, staying in the shadows of the manor as he made his way to the front courtyard. Before he could observe his surroundings, he was abruptly grabbed by a burly drunkard:
“I know you! Tell them if I’m a deserter or not!”
The burly, middle-aged man reeked of alcohol and forcibly dragged Shad to a long table. Under the lights, Shad recognized him as Captain Radis. The last time they met at the Lucky Southern Cross Club, Radis had been mocked by his companions for attempting to demonstrate his loyalty to the king by firing eight shots at his own head.
This seemed like a similar scenario. The drunken captain somehow recognized Shad—or more likely, just grabbed someone randomly—and dragged him into the crowd.
“Radis, your antics are already absurd enough. Are you trying to embarrass yourself further at a banquet?”
A man with brown hair, in his thirties, and holding a wine glass spoke. He was tall, dressed in a black formal suit, and smiled apologetically at Shad.
Others attempted to rescue the hapless bystander from the intoxicated captain, but Radis shoved them away. Slurring his words, he shouted:
“I’m not a coward! I refused to suffer the humiliation of capture, so I aimed the gun at my head! That gun—it was an antique I bought recently. I didn’t intend to use it.”
“But did the antique gun fire successfully?”
The man with the wine glass asked.
“Of course! The bullet fit perfectly with the gun.”
The captain replied drunkenly. In the flickering candlelight, Shad noticed his shirt front was soaked.
“If the bullet fired, how are you still alive?”
“How should I know? Is God mocking me? I aimed at my head and fired eight shots! Eight shots! But the bullets all hit someone else! I’m devastated! Completely devastated! Oh, God, have you forsaken me?”
Captain Radis finally let go of Shad and leaned on the table, crying. Shad tried to leave but noticed Radis pulling a black revolver from his coat. It was clearly an antique, well-maintained but bearing the marks of time.
【You’ve come into contact with a ‘Whisper.’】
“Huh? This is a 【relic】?”
Shad wondered, startled.
“Why would you bring that here?”
Radis’s friends rushed over, worried the drunken captain would disturb the other guests by brandishing the gun. However, they weren’t concerned about it being loaded; the revolver likely had no bullets.
“Put it away!”
They urged, but Radis staggered and grabbed Shad again:
“Sir, look, it’s this thing! Not me! I fired at my head, but I couldn’t die. The enemy grabbed it, aimed at me, and shot himself instead!”
In a sudden motion, the drunken captain yanked hard, tearing off Shad’s right sleeve. Shad, still reeling from Radis’s bizarre story, was now more focused on the cost of his ruined suit.
Radis’s friends couldn’t stand it any longer. They restrained the drunken captain and took the antique revolver from him.
“My apologies, sir.”
One of them handed Shad the gun, after ejecting the cylinder to confirm it was empty:
“Radis is truly drunk. Take this gun as compensation for your suit. Please don’t refuse. We think keeping this gun away from Radis might help him recover. We weren’t mocking him earlier; he brought this up after getting drunk again. Who can make sense of such things?”
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