Mystery: Starting from the Shadow World

Chapter 134 Meursault

The next morning.

Klein scooped up a small piece of softened oat bread with a spoon, put it in his mouth, and savored its sweet taste. His mood improved, and he began to look forward to the day ahead.

Mr. Repard of Satch Street in St. George's District, Klein was prepared to go and take a look anyway, since it wouldn't take too much time. If the other party's vehicle wasn't worth the investment, then he wouldn't bother going.

Before that, I need to do a divination to see if there will be any problems this morning.

Boom!Boom!Boom!

The loud, hammer-like knocking on the door echoed, disrupting Klein's thoughts. Even Philip, who was sitting on the sofa looking annoyed by the cold, pale skin facing him, frowned slightly, losing his good impression of the person outside the door.

Who could it be? Klein's eyelids twitched as he didn't even ring the doorbell. His good mood, which he had been cultivating that morning, was affected. However, after finishing the bread in his hand in a few bites, he got up and went to open the door.

What came into Klein's view was a familiar face, but one he had never seen before. The man had dark skin, deep-set eyes, and was a lean, wiry man from the plateau, his eyes filled with indifference.

Meursault, the "executioner" of the Zmanger Party.

"You are Sherlock Moriarty?" Before Klein could speak, he couldn't help but ask in Rune, which had a strong highland accent.

"Yes."

"I've asked you to find someone named Ian Wright, whom you've met." Meursault lowered his flamboyant silk hat, obscuring his forehead, leaving only his fierce-looking eyes fixed on him.

"If you had half the observational skills of the detective described in Sherlock, and understood things reasonably, you would know what your choice should be."

"Fifty pounds, that's far more than what you got from that brat, and all you have to do is find him!"

"Oh, what a pity."

Klein raised an eyebrow slightly, his gaze flickered for a couple of seconds, then shook his head, preparing to express his refusal, but at that moment a cold voice rang out from behind him:

"It's none of your business to judge what kind of person Sherlock Holmes is."

Meursault turned his head, his gaze passing through Klein to the young lady walking towards them. He narrowed his eyes slightly, seemingly pondering who this person he had overlooked was.

But Philip didn't give him a chance. He pulled Klein behind him, and facing this man who was a head taller than him and exuded a dangerous aura, he said without hesitation:

"Sherlock Holmes is a fictional character. Everyone can imagine the real him, the complete him, in their mind. I don't object to that, nor can I interfere. But this detective will never violate the most basic principles of detective work, and he will never pursue money, even if you give him 500 pounds right now."

"A guy like you, who imposes his thoughts and judgments on others and whose answers disgust me, will only get one answer in the end."

"roll!"

boom--!

The door was slammed shut.

Meursault clenched his fists tightly, suppressing the urge to lash out, but the anger in his eyes was as intense as magma about to erupt, and even the whites of his eyes were tinged with red.

His remaining rationality allowed him to restrain himself, and from the force with which that damned lady slammed the door, he could tell that the force and her figure were somewhat incongruous with what he had just witnessed.

And then consider the pale skin.

A corpse collector?

Oh.

"What's wrong?"

Seeing that Philip was genuinely angry for some reason, Klein thought of the "Prisoner's" desires and madness, and asked him as Philip sat back down on the sofa.

"It's nothing."

Philip shook his head, forcing a stiff smile. "After being promoted to 'zombie,' the troubles are a little easier than I expected, but there are still some troubles. I was just acting just now, and also to see if this would make me feel better."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Klein frowned. Clearly, what was troublesome for Philip wouldn't be simple. Although he probably wouldn't be able to help, he still asked the question.

"Um," Philip pondered for a few seconds, stroking his chin, before speaking with a somewhat strange expression:

"I can figure out a way to deal with madness and desire, but there is indeed something quite troublesome. However, you're good at makeup, or do you have any experience buying cosmetics?"

"Huh?" Klein opened his mouth and said subconsciously.

But when he saw Philip's pale skin, he immediately understood. He rubbed his chin, but ultimately didn't force himself and said somewhat awkwardly, "I have neither the opportunity nor the motivation to come into contact with these things."

"Um"

Philip nodded and sighed. Although he felt somewhat helpless, there was nothing he could do. After all, they were both perfectly normal men, and even though he was now disguised as a woman, he didn't know much about cosmetics.

However, to put it another way, without sufficient skill, trying to disguise such corpse-like pale skin as a normal person's skin tone is nothing but wishful thinking, no matter how beautiful the cosmetics are.

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

Unless it's something extraordinary, the pharmacist at the Brave Ones' Bar gathering is out of the question for now. So, my only option is... Philip gently tapped his head and then said:

"I can't go out right now. If you have time later, could you please find someone for me and ask if they can help me?"

"Who?"

"Emlyn White at 48 River Bend Avenue, he's a vampire, and we're not that close, but you'll have something to talk about if you praise his race." Philip thought for a moment, then continued:

"Then you ask him if he can concoct a potion to restore my skin to its original state. Paying is inevitable, as long as he doesn't treat you like a fool and rip you off, you can accept it. I'll pay you back when I get back."

Just from listening to these few words, I actually had a general idea of ​​who Emlyn White was. Klein picked up his half-high silk hat, put it on, steadied it with his hand, and then said:

"Where's that guy named Meursault?"

"He doesn't know my former skin color, and he wouldn't care to know, so there's no need to worry." Philip sat on the sofa, clasped his hands together, and murmured:

"Besides, the thought of killing is hard to hide, and I don't mind killing him anyway. I'll sleep more during the day; I don't think he'll hold back. Even if he doesn't attack tonight, he will in the next two days."

"Wait, it can't be that bad."

After realizing that what was originally just a simple threat had been taken as murder by Philip, Klein was somewhat confused. "That boy named Ian Wright shouldn't be involved in things that are this serious. Our involvement in it isn't that deep."

"That's why I said..."

Philip had anticipated Klein's doubts, and calmly explained, "The thought of killing cannot be hidden. Even when he covered his face with that hat, I could still sense it. He was preparing to kill us."

"Perfect, the profits can be used for investment, or we can split them 50/50."

(End of this chapter)