Mystery: Starting from the Shadow World

Chapter 120 Characteristics of "Psychotherapists"

Within the Shadow World.

Philip sat cross-legged on the ground, freeing the soul of the "psychiatrist" who was utterly insignificant to him in the "wriggling hunger."

According to the information he obtained through divination, the extraordinary soul released by this glove should have been completely devoured by the former, leaving nothing behind.

Unfortunately, in the Shadow World, the "Crawling Hunger" inexplicably became well-behaved, allowing the phantom of a tall woman to appear.

The other person's face was somewhat blurry, but the pain and contortion were palpable.

Philip sensed the overwhelming resentment and malice emanating from him, and tried his best to speak in a calm and gentle tone: "Zilingus is dead. Now, I'm afraid only his head remains, and my companions are going to collect the bounty."

"I see." Upon hearing this, the "psychologist's" resentment lessened considerably, and he smiled bitterly, "Unfortunately, this doesn't change the fact that I'm already dead. Thank you for being willing to release me. What are your conditions?"

"I want the 'Psychotherapist's' potion recipe."

After Philip finished speaking, he seemed to think of something and then added, "Your own extraordinary qualities are more than enough to pay for the reward you just received, so you can make some requests to me regarding the formula."

"Is there anything I haven't done yet, or anyone I'm still worried about? As long as it doesn't involve innocent people, I will try to complete it."

"No need."

The woman turned her head slightly, unable to hide her somber mood and loss, but finally managed a weak laugh: "I've been dead for many years. My family and friends should have received the news long ago. Relaying the news of my death will only remind them of that pain again."

The outcome cannot be changed.

Philip listened silently until, a dozen seconds later, after the woman had told the "psychologist" the potion recipe, her body completely dimmed and dissipated, transforming into a giant golden pupil, before he opened his mouth and said in realization:

"Yes, it can't be changed."

The extraordinary beings in "The Crawling Hunger" must all be released in the future, except for the most heinous ones. In Philip's eyes, everyone has the right and dignity to die, and their souls should not be bound and tormented.

Right now, he really needs this power, but he can't unleash it all at once. He can only wait until later and find a way to go to the sea, where the pirates are sometimes even more evil than the gangsters in Backlund.

Philip carefully stored away the extraordinary properties of the "psychiatrist" before turning and leaving.

The following evening, Iron Gate Street.

Philip pushed open the door of the Brave Ones bar as usual, and behind him stood a strange man with a large beard. He was Sherlock Moriarty, also known as Klein Moretti, who had been brought there.

Although Philip tried to jokingly suggest that the other party change his name slightly and call him Sherlock Holmes or John Watson, Klein refused outright, saying, "That would make me the center of attention in any situation."

No, no, no, if my Sherlock Holmes story reaches its final chapter with Moriarty, you'll probably still be in the spotlight, but that won't be until next year at the earliest, since writing novels isn't my main job.

Looking back on the scene, Philip chuckled to himself, even having the urge to change his own pseudonym to John Watson. It was hard to imagine how famous the name Sherlock Moriarty would become if Klein lived up to expectations.

Unfortunately, that wasn't what Klein wanted, and he wasn't particularly interested in it.

Philip rubbed his forehead, thinking about how his neighbor Fors had come to ask about his progress that morning. He suddenly felt a little helpless; it seemed like Fors was even more anxious than he was.

Her novel "Stormy Manor" hasn't been updated yet either; I wonder how long it will take.

However, taking this opportunity, Philip also introduced Klein to Fors, naturally as Sherlock Moriarty.

The reason, though somewhat far-fetched, is acceptable to the writer and falls within a reasonable range: upon meeting Sherlock and hearing his name and profession, he tried to rent a room in his house.

If a detective novel is written without firsthand experience, relying solely on newspapers and books by fellow writers at home, it will inevitably fall short compared to a story based on personal experience.

However, there is another downside: if Klein really makes a name for himself in the future, he will have to join in on any normal cases in order to maintain his public image.

"Kaspass." With a sigh inwardly, Philip called out to the old acquaintance in billiard room number three.

The other person covered their cards, came to Philip's side, and asked in a low voice, "What's wrong?"

Are there any unwritten rules or conventions at the gatherings there? If I want to introduce a new member, what should I be aware of?

"you?"

Kaspass narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze sweeping over the dozens of people around him, eliminating all the familiar faces, and finally landing on a strange face near the bar, paying for a drink.

"There are no special requirements. Just take him there. You've already shown your sincerity during this time. It's just that you haven't expanded your social circle yet, and the people at the gathering aren't very familiar with you. But that's enough to invite a newcomer."

Not a single mistake, not a single poem, not a single post, not a single piece of content, not a single look!

"Actually, there's an even simpler way. You can just not mention it. Whether there are one more or one less person at the party is sometimes irrelevant. Just make sure the password for knocking is correct."

"But that guy had better be reliable enough, otherwise you know the consequences—it could be terrible, and it might even implicate me!"

Is it scary? Philip subconsciously scratched his cheek with his finger, trying his best to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up, while thinking about his current strength.

While he wasn't arrogant enough to take on the entire gathering head-on, he really didn't know how he could lose. Perhaps if the "Priest of Light" unleashed his ultimate move, these people would scatter and flee.

But you can't do that, it's too flashy.

Thanks.

After a brief exchange, Philip walked along the familiar road toward the bar's kitchen.

Kaspas limped back to the poker table, his attention initially drawn to the stranger at the bar, but gradually becoming completely absorbed by the tense and exciting game, unaware that the other man had already left.

In a dimly lit house.

Klein put on his robe, pulled down his hood, and headed towards the living room. He suppressed his slight unease and entered the dimly lit room, where only the light of a single candle flickered gently. He found a corner to sit down.

Another chapter will be added tomorrow.

(End of this chapter)