Mystery: My Encounters with the Celestial God

Chapter 350 The Noble Lady's Party Invitation (3.2K)

It was afternoon.

After receiving the £800 in cash from Mr. Fool, Ron ended the ceremony. She habitually picked up the banknotes and carefully counted them to make sure they were all genuine.

"In this era, there is simply no room for counterfeit money to exist."

The silver-haired woman muttered something to herself, and then she saw her vengeful maidservant walking towards her and handing her an invitation.

"This is an invitation from the Earl of Hall's daughter to a ball tomorrow night."

The short sentence was completely flat, as if the speaker were a machine.

Ron, accustomed to his personal maid's speaking style, took the invitation, examined it carefully, and casually remarked:

"Servants are supposed to provide the best service. With that indifferent expression, anyone who didn't know better would think I was a servant."

Sharon remained expressionless upon hearing this, but the way she looked at Ron's clothes and her own betrayed her true thoughts.

Miss Wraith's appearance and temperament are not bad, and her skin is delicate and elastic. It's just that the characteristics of the sequence pathway make her face look very pale.

If Sharon and Ron were to switch clothes right now, Sharon would undoubtedly be a cool and mature young lady, while Ron would be a sycophantic servant who "abuses his power" and mocks everyone around him.

"Do you know any high-ranking nobles?" Sharon asked calmly, her tone still flat.

A "god" belonging to the opposing camp not only lives openly in Backlund, but also knows a young lady from a noble family. If you say there's no conspiracy, Sharon is the first to disbelieve it.

After such a long period of contact, she has roughly grasped the personality that this "master" usually expresses, and from the outside, he looks no different from an ordinary person.

Well, I think I'm not much different from ordinary people.

"Shouldn't I recognize you? I can see what you're thinking. You suspect me of having some kind of conspiracy behind my back. How can you doubt your own master like this? It really hurts me."

"Your faction should be the Southern Continent, so you should be on my side, right?"

"Faced with these guys who invaded our homeland, you still defend them and expect them to uphold justice?"

The silver-haired woman raised an eyebrow, instantly seeing through the servant's thoughts, because the vengeful spirit's question was superfluous and exposed her inner thoughts.

"This is different. The Southern Continent is full of bloodshed, killing, hunger, and desire. This is true for both the Spirit Cult that worships the 'Grim Reaper' and the Rose School that previously worshipped the 'Mother Tree of Desire'."

"A bizarre and terrifying evil god, and bloody primitive rituals."

Sharon pursed her lips at this point and didn't continue, because her meaning was already very clear: based on the existing conditions, no matter how you compare them, the Seven Gods seem to be more "righteous".

"So, this is the issue you've been struggling with? Simply abstaining isn't enough; you need to talk to someone about your feelings and help you recover your mental state."

The all-knowing and all-seeing infinite wisdom did not criticize Miss Wraith for her wavering stance; instead, it chuckled and teased her.

Then her bloodshot eyes looked ahead, her pupils seemingly dilated.

"I ask you, does believing in an evil god mean you should be treated as a slave, forced to use your flesh and blood to build railways and factories?"

"You only need to answer yes or no!"

"..."

"That shouldn't be the case."

Sharon was silent for a moment, then shook her head and uttered a few words in a slightly hoarse voice.

"Even you know that to avenge your teacher, you must first increase your strength, then gather helpers, and even 'endure humiliation' to become my servant. What about the people of the Southern Continent who are being dominated by hunger, poverty, war, and enslavement?"

"You're lucky; you have your teachers to protect you, but they don't."

"From beginning to end, they were nothing more than outcasts abandoned by fate, so unlucky that even the gods they worshipped were a bunch of evil guys. They could only be swept along step by step, unable to take control of their own future."

"And right now, there's a group of unfortunate people being bullied, accused of evil, unclean, and terrifying crimes. Do you think they should open their mouths to defend themselves, or pick up a long knife and fight back?"

The "God of Time and Space," who had always been rather unconventional, completely stunned Miss Vengeful Spirit, because she had never imagined that he would have his own reasons and principles.

It's not that we're afraid of evil gods being powerful, it's that we're afraid of evil gods being cultured!

Seeing Sharon remain silent, Ron stepped forward, patted her shoulder, and touched her neatly combed light blonde hair.

"No one is born cruel or evil. Everyone has a chance to start over, and I am giving them that chance..."

At this point, Ron paused, seemingly realizing there was a flaw in her words. She looked up and pointed to Monocles, who was watching the commotion from a distance.

"Except for Him!"

Amon, who had taken on the role of butler, was clearly taken aback, and then felt discriminated against and insulted.

"Oh, thank you for the compliment!"

He gritted his teeth, pushed up his monocle made of crystal, and admitted defeat in his anger.

What a joke! I, Amon, am the ancient king of angels, unlike some mentally immature person who hits someone without regard for their own dignity.

"You are an exception."

At this moment, Sharon also came to her senses. She jokingly pointed at Ron, whose blood-red eyes were slightly wide open, her tone carrying a hint of "forced smile".

"Deities cannot be defined!"

"Oh, by the way, you're coming with me to the ball tomorrow night as my personal maid, so you'd better keep your expressions in check!"

Ron tossed his head, skipping over this somewhat heavy topic for the maid.

Tuesday morning, shrouded in mist.

Klein sat at his dining table, breaking up the oat bread he had specially bought and soaking it in milk, trying to improve his way of eating it.

Actually, I prefer soy milk and fried dough sticks; those are the tastes from my memories. It's a pity that Russell didn't include these two dishes in his royal repertoire, and thus they weren't passed down.

Klein quickly scooped up a piece of oat bread that had just been submerged in milk with a ladle and immediately put it in his mouth. After just a few chews, he could feel the milk, which was full of the aroma of wheat, flowing out, and the increasingly sweet aftertaste of the bread.

It's neither too soft nor too hard, with a perfect texture.

After spending a few minutes finishing breakfast and a few minutes washing the dishes, Klein looked up at the clock and realized it was already past seven in the morning.

Without hesitating for long, he immediately picked up his coat from the hanger, dressed neatly, and prepared to go to the East District, the factory area, to investigate the situation of various eligible factories.

He's been losing sleep a lot lately because of this. The idea of ​​an older single man starting a business after living two lifetimes is always so exciting.

He went out, boarded a horse-drawn carriage, and paid two sous. Klein successfully arrived at the door of a greasy coffee shop.

"Detective, you've finally arrived..."

As Klein looked around, a slightly muffled voice, as if the person had phlegm in their throat, came from behind him.

"Old Kohler? I thought you had already gone to the docks. I was just about to leave and was planning to come find you this afternoon."

The great detective turned around and saw the middle-aged man in the greasy jacket.

"The pay is the same whether it's morning or afternoon work. The dockworkers in the morning don't compete with us for afternoon work because they can't work for very long."

The middle-aged man chuckled, seemingly unconcerned about the matter, but his rambling words betrayed his true thoughts.

"Detective, I've found out everything you asked me to, but you need to know so many factories, so many of them..."

Old Kohler paused for half a second before finally remembering the professional terminology used by the great detective.

"What's the point of background information? Some of those factories are controlled by gangs, and they make money through dirty means."

Old Kohler, who had spent most of his life in the East End, had seen factory workers coming off their night shifts when he was a homeless man.

In the darkness of night, under the crimson moonlight, he felt that there was no essential difference between them.

"It's nothing. My friend is going to open a factory that makes bicycles, uh, you can think of it as a small horse-drawn carriage."

"She's from out of town and not familiar with Backlund, so I need to help her investigate to prevent any troublesome issues from lurking behind her."

In fact, Ron only rushes in to deal with the troublemakers when faced with trouble, and given our respective identities, it's best if we don't escalate things...

Thoughts flashed through his mind as Klein's brown eyes swept over old Kohler's rough, wrinkled face and his slightly hunched back from years of manual labor.

He hesitated for half a second, then said in a somewhat uncertain tone:

"Perhaps once the factory is set up, I can introduce you to some easy work there; I also have a small stake in it."

"Detective, is it true!?"

Upon hearing this, Old Kohler's throat bobbed immediately, and he eagerly spoke with delight.

He's already quite old, and he probably won't be able to work at the docks for many more years. When that time comes, he'll be back to having no income. In that situation, having even a job as a factory gatekeeper to support him would be a blessing in disguise.

"I can only say it's possible. You know, setting up a factory is not an easy thing. It requires smoothing out every link to ensure that things can proceed."

Klein didn't rule out any possibility; out of instinctive caution, he left himself plenty of room for maneuver.

"Thank you so much, Detective. You've helped me so much. If it weren't for you, I'd probably still be being chased around by the police."

Even though the man opposite him only had a plan, old Kohler still believed him without a doubt.

The middle-aged man cleared his throat and then followed Klein to a corner of the greasy coffee shop, where he began to recount the information he had gathered.

"I heard that there are thirteen steel mills in the East District. Ten of them are said to be state-owned and have royal shares, while only three belong to the wealthy and noble."

"They are all small-scale operations, and recently they have started large-scale layoffs, according to steelworkers who were laid off at the docks."

Are they laying off employees because they're going to go bankrupt?

Klein muttered to himself, but nodded outwardly, feigning professionalism.

"However, there is one that is different from the other two. They are businesses represented by the Rogge Party. You should know the Rogge Party, right? They are a well-known gang in the entire East District. They have only recently risen to prominence in the last few months."

The Rogue Party...that sounds familiar.

Klein frowned slightly. As a "diviner," he had a strong spiritual intuition. If he was familiar with something, it meant that he must have heard of this gang.

Instead of relying on divination, he began to ponder deeply based on his memory. After a dozen seconds, he finally remembered where he had heard of the Rogge Party.

That was a few days ago, when the gangster who reported him, a private investigator, for illegally possessing a gun in the East District was very knowledgeable about the law!

(End of this chapter)