Unable to repay my student loans, I had no choice but to work part-time as a demon hunter.

"Baby, who are you calling baby!" Charlotte snapped out of her daze amidst the applause and finally heard the overly affectionate nickname.

She couldn't help but look at Gordon, meeting his intense and focused gaze.

Was he looking at the money, or at her? Charlotte couldn't tell.

"I'll get my fill first. Don't worry, whatever money you have later, come to me." Gordon walked back to the backstage tent and slipped away with Martin.

"Gordon...!"

Only Charlotte, her cheeks burning, remained on stage, basking in the afterglow of the applause.

That's incredible.

Charlotte was deeply moved.

Just two months ago, she was digging in the mud with Gordon, throwing her tight shoes into a trash can on the roadside. For three whole days, no stray cats dared to come near her.

Then, they went to great lengths to raise a large litter of rats, costing a silver pound each... The troubles involved are self-evident.

Now, mud is about to become spiritual, and rats are becoming increasingly valuable. The term "Black Water Syndrome" is being seriously recorded by countless people.

From now on, anyone encountering similar symptoms should first recall the concept they invented.

They were no longer unknown college students; everyone regarded them as a couple with a very promising future.

Academic partner.

That's how it should be said, at least in formal settings.

The first-phase control group was kept as the original sample, the second-phase sample was worth 1 silver pound each, the third-phase sample was worth 5 silver pounds each, and the fourth-phase sample was auctioned off to the highest bidder... Charlotte had made up her mind and quickly made the arrangements.

Gordon was responsible for making the mice valuable, and she was responsible for finding the buyers who could afford to pay the most.

  

The rat leaned back.

Yes, yes. It seems humans finally don't need it to perform backflips anymore. The mouse creates value through its labor; it deserves freedom and food!

As the applause gradually subsided, the citizens continued to talk about it with great interest.

"The Blackwater River will turn people into fish!"

"I told you long ago that you shouldn't drink water; I only ever drink alcohol."

Is magnetic therapy effective?

"Is growing gills in a factory considered a work injury? Or is it considered a personal hobby?"

What's the difference between "Fish King," "Fish King," and "Fish Balls"?

Peter stood quietly for a moment.

He used to see Gordon sleeping in the dissection room, and now he sees him turning Bosch Square upside down.

Peter must have felt uncomfortable seeing Gordon constantly climbing the ranks. Everyone else was just doing odd jobs for the professor, so how did Gordon get to be considered superior?

But now, the gap is so large that it cannot be explained by luck, and he truly admires him.

Moreover, they actually hope that Gordon will climb even higher.

If the Ross people ask about this academic friendship in the future, he can pick up his teacup and say in the calmest tone, "Gorden Vick? Of course I know him. He often asked me questions when he was young."

Whether the question is "Peter, where did the professor go?" or "Peter, why hasn't the trash been taken out yet?" is irrelevant.

Then, the reporters continued to question Charlotte, while another group grabbed John, pressing him on how many steps it took to turn into a water monkey.

John patiently explained that "the path varies from person to person," and the reporter nodded while drafting a report: "Top Student Admits: Everyone Can Become a Water Monkey."

Gordon avoided the reporters and followed Martin, escorted by several plainclothes officers, to safely leave and meet up with Vera.

When he reached a flower bed, he couldn't help but stop and look back at everything.

By this time, the sky was clear and bright.

The rain clouds were blown by the westerly winds to the lower reaches of the Blackwater River, and the June sunshine illuminated the two hundred or so academic booths of various sizes in Boshi Square, making the university teaching building, which looks like an ancient castle, appear even more solemn.

Banners fluttered, crowds surged, and reporters chased after the latest news.

At this moment, there was indeed a feeling of having a hand on history, even though the lever used was a rat bar.

He could certainly say something even more amazing.

They claim that the Fishing King has awakened, is 300 meters tall, spews lasers, eats ten young boys and girls every night, fabricated thirteen powers for this ancient being with no evidence, and then demanded a large sum of money for investigation...

But why bother?

If funding is obtained through fabrication, what is the point of having eyes that can see the truth?

Although Gordon's bottom line is so low that you have to bend over at a 135-degree angle to see it, it does exist.

"Okay," Vera said, offering only one word to Gordon.

She always thought Gordon was good, no matter what he did. But today was different. Some people were listening attentively to him, and some were applauding him. She didn't care about the applause; she just felt that Gordon deserved it.

“There’s something even better.” Gordon looked at Martin and the plainclothes officer beside him. “…Now, my name is linked to the reputation of the Academy, the interests of the Secretariat, and the media. This way, more people will be willing to help me.”

Vera strongly agreed.

"20 minutes, you're 3 minutes and 23 seconds over time." Martin glanced at his pocket watch.

"But you got 23 targets, which, per person, took 61 seconds each. That's only the time it takes to drink a cup of coffee."

Martin thought about it seriously for a while.

"There's still room for improvement." Martin accepted expressionlessly. "...Come on, I'll take you to see the scene so you can understand what kind of monster we're facing."

As the group passed the distinguished guests, Earl Montfort was dealing with several beautiful ladies urging him to remarry. Gordon did not stop, but simply whispered a single word: "stocks."

The count didn't move; he knew what was going on.

Once these reporters finish embellishing the story, the "Black Water Comprehensive Investigation" will inevitably trigger a huge demand from citizens for water purification and pipeline renovation.

The demons may not appear every day, but everyone needs to turn on the tap every day.

Inventors throughout the city will do their utmost to develop all kinds of filters, claiming that their magical little toys are the best water tap covers in the city, reducing the risk by 99%.

How big of a deal is this?

"..." Earl Monford nodded to Gordon, took a few steps away. He had to buy what was for sale, investigate what the sellers wouldn't sell, and invest in what he couldn't buy.

Gordon is certain that the Monford family's wealth will continue to grow.

Fortunately, Charlotte will manage them sooner or later.

Fortunately, Gordon was her most trusted partner.

So Gordon was actually worried about his own future assets...

The Earl watched Gordon walk away; clearly, he had also thought of this.

"Tsk." The count's gaze fell back on Charlotte.

The question is no longer whether Gordon is worthy of being near Charlotte.

Given the established facts, he needs to adopt a more proactive approach to the problem.

For example, how can we elevate his status? How can we grant him a public office?

That way, I'll feel better the next time I see him in front of me.

As Gordon approached the gate, he saw a group of Royal Anglican knights.

They wore silver-gray breastplates and hoods, obscuring their faces, and stood so straight they seemed unreal, like a university entrance lacking decorations, so the church donated a set of statues that could draw swords.

Martin gave them a few instructions.

The other party didn't seem to nod or shake their head; they simply accepted the message and then turned their attention back to the field. A knight led four of them into the university.

As Gordon passed by the group of knights, he felt a slight unease within him.

An invisible force soothed all tension and fear, leaving only a sense of sublimity.

Is this source-level capability at the domain level, or even higher? Gordon couldn't tell.

All he knew was that the fish-men who hadn't had time to leave were probably going to have a very unpleasant afternoon.

Outside on the street, singer Elaine and doctor Albert were being questioned by plainclothes officers. Gordon avoided them.

The fishing nets have been tightened; we mustn't provoke them now.

Outside the school gate, several black carriages had been waiting for a long time, and Martin pointed to one of them.

Gordon and Vera boarded the carriage, leaving the commotion in the square behind, the carriage swaying slightly as the horses started moving.

He leaned back, finally able to close his eyes and give his brain, which was dizzy from overthinking, a little rest.

Every composed step taken during the presentation was mentally taxing.

Vera didn't sit opposite him, but on the same side as him.

Her gaze was calm, completely devoid of the cold and ruthless aura she possessed outside; instead, she exuded a gentleness that only Gordon could discern.

Gordon turned to the side and then naturally rested his head on Vera's lap.

It wasn't soft; the firm flesh supporting Gordon's head gave it a strange sense of reliability.

He didn't ask, and Vera didn't even consider whether she should push him away; she simply placed the black sword aside to avoid the hilt digging into him. This in itself speaks volumes.

……

……

When Gordon opened his eyes again, all he saw was Vera's curves supported by leather straps.

He tried to look upwards, but failed.

Large, wide chassis, high degree of convergence, and very upright position. In short, beautiful.

"I can't see your face."

"Your question."

When Gao Deng got up, the stench of coal smoke drifted in from outside the window, mixed with the smell of salted fish and rotting flesh.

We've arrived at the old fish market.

He saw warehouses and drying racks along the Blackwater River, steam barges and fishing boats moored on the shore, and dockworkers, fishermen and nearby residents standing on tiptoe to point at the ruins of Blackgill.

"Oh God... Saint Joshua, please bless us..."

"It's become like this... The roof was still there yesterday..."

"...This is terrible..."

The carriage stopped outside the hemp rope soaked in holy oil, and ordinary police officers stopped passersby outside.

The Black Gill Gang's warehouse was meticulously documented.

It used to be a large, gray-black building, with fishing nets always hanging at the entrance, and two fat men on the left and right like door gods.

Now it has been gutted, the roof is gone, the walls are broken, and the surrounding water is filled with filth and building debris.

Gordon and Vera got out of the car.

Along the cordon, there was also a brave, short female police officer.

She was not tall, wore a police hat, had a chestnut-colored high ponytail, bright lake-blue eyes, and a delicate and pleasing appearance.

She was trying to push Old Baz, the leader of the Blackgill Gang, out of the blockade.

"This area is not open to the public, sir."

"That's my warehouse! My brother died in there," old Buzz said viciously.

In just one night, he looked ten years older. All his followers died, and only his scars and beer belly remained to continue following him.

"It's precisely because it was your brother who died that I can't let you in."

"What utter nonsense!"

"If we mess up what they left behind, we'll have less evidence. The less evidence we have, the more likely the killer is to escape. Sir, you'd rather see the killer caught, wouldn't you?" the female patrol officer said earnestly.

"You think you can take me?" Old Baz glared at her, blowing his beard.

"Yes." She patted the revolver on her waist. "I also have my partner. It doesn't talk much, but every word it utters carries weight."

Just as old Baz was about to explode, he turned around and saw Gordon and Vera, and the resentment and unease in his eyes finally subsided somewhat.

"The Blackwater Hermitage." He clenched his fist.

"I know," Gordon nodded solemnly, "but I just brought the Secret Order to the attention of the whole city. Your brother's death will not be written as an ordinary fire and glossed over. Instead, it will be written as a heroic struggle against the Secret Order."

Old Baz stared at Gordon, clearly unsure how he had done it. But he sensed that this kid was completely different from before.