Another string reel from Bandoli

By repeating the life experience of that day, he can obtain the power source of the entire spacecraft and charge his secret props at the same time.

With the destruction and crash caused by the unidentified rodents within the spacecraft, these cyber clones, theoretically incapable of life, reacted with their own corpses, buried underground in France, creating a cyber version of the ghost's resurrection, a rebellion of nanoparticles.

Now all the other "ghosts" who rebelled and fled have been eliminated, with only the last one left.

It doesn't matter if I just leave it alone.

Unconsciously, they will only follow the instinctive reaction of the remnants of death.

But it's just a thought after all.

The one who escaped was a "big shot"

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, but eventually gave up resisting and let me do whatever I wanted.

I have long been accustomed to being led by the nose by him, who is whimsical and always does things as recklessly as He Xian Juanxin.

As if I had finally won, I took his hand and started walking around this small palace.

In the Musee d'Orsay, formerly the Pompadour Castle, in addition to the art paintings that occupy a part of the viewing area, there are also many other works of art worth talking about.

I stayed up late last night to make up for it...

"What's the unofficial history of a mistress? Miss, even if you're not a true Frenchman, you should know that Madame de Pompadour was an outstanding female revolutionary, politician, and resistance leader who overthrew Emperor Louis XV and ended the French royal dynasty. You said she was once a mistress and kept a skinny, wild Englishman of unknown origin? Which parallel world's history are you talking about?"

When he tried to explain to me that the breast cups made by Madame Panpadour using her own mold were a reward for her British lover who helped her chop off the emperor's head, his words were full of sarcasm about the girls' novels I read.

"It's true... just..."

It’s over. I can’t tell that I saw this in TV dramas and romance novels…

"But isn't it true that history doesn't tell us much about Madame Pemberton's early life? There's only a record of her working as a maid at the Palace of Versailles... Maybe... at that time..."

"Just admit you're engaging in historical nihilism. If you keep up the fuss, I'll throw you back to that era and let you discover the historical truth yourself."

"No... not just me! There's also my classmate, Donna! Her grandfather is a distant relative of Madame Pemberto, with a family tree. She herself admitted that Madame Pemberto sold... sold..."

My face must be flushed now, and I really can't say that shameful word.

"Oh? Miss, you're still willing to take the initiative to make friends, then this thing must be fake."

I'm so angry! You actually refuted me with this possibility!

Is it weird that I would make friends?

I have evidence too, okay? He pulled out a paper drawing from his sleeve.

It was a photocopy that her classmate had secretly copied from her grandfather's house when he was camping outside at night to watch the stars.

Just because I heard in class yesterday that Charlotte was interested in the Panbadu Palace, I did something that went against my ancestors' teachings.

It was a blueprint of the secret rooms of the Panbadu Palace, involving dozens of renovated passages.

The "fake" deacon just glanced at me and mocked me without hesitation.

"I just took it out, how do you know it's fake!" I was indignant about this.

"Because I can tell from just a glance that these secret passages above you don't conform to architectural standards, especially the one in the middle. Are you serious about the design of the secret passageway in the hollow space between the main (second) suspected 386 load-bearing columns?"

“Wooha——”

"Besides, do you think I'm some amateur? These underground passages have long been filled in. How many times do you think this place has been rebuilt?"

The several major turning points that the Pambado Palace has experienced in history have made it the official stronghold and office of the rebels.

The most serious one even caused the entire ground to collapse, and the entire palace fell into it, which was an absurd record.

It was as if the French at that time were fighting some creatures underground.

"At least... at least try it... let's make another bet!" I got angry and wanted to go ahead with the bet.

"You made a bet with me last time, this time it's my turn to bet with you..."

"What do you want to bet on?"

"If any of the secret passages here are real, you have to... do what I want you to do. If all of them are fake, I can do what you want me to do."

An acorn suddenly flew from his fingertips into my mouth and dissolved quickly.

Then the butler's expression became a little...disgusted. He frowned tightly, and a scornful smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, showing his deep disgust.

"...Miss Charlotte... Although you're not as bad as the other one, I still have to advise you... to read less of those little books..."

What did you feed me?

“You give…”

"Telepathy Fruit. If the consumer doesn't learn to control it, their thoughts will be transmitted unconditionally to anyone else. My dear lady, you actually thought of doing this after winning the bet..."

“Aa ...

The firewood was burning in the fireplace, and the sound of sparks popping from the firewood rang in my ears.

Soon it was the last secret passage.

Just as he had said before, there was no passage in the castle where the legendary Mrs. Panpadour had a tryst with the mysterious man.

Or maybe it wasn't marked on the map, having long since been filled in, the former hideout of the underground resistance. He used the sonic screwdriver to scan it and there was a pile of evidence proving its true purpose.

Even this last hearth...

The signs of renovation are too obvious, and the virtual flames are so fake.

But when I turned around and was about to agree to his "request"

But I found that his expression changed

He grinned like a child who had discovered a new toy.

He hushed softly and casually approached the imitation fireplace.

He fiddled with it and scanned it a few times with the sonic screwdriver.

There was a click.

The fireplace and the ground around us turned...

There really is a mechanism!

The air was filled with the scent of mothballs and linseed oil.

This is a slightly spacious hidden room!

There were worthless gold products scattered on the ground.

Dust sheets drape rows of metal-framed paintings.

I boldly lifted one of the paintings and a cloud of dust hit my nose.

And that oil painting had long been destroyed by the baptism of time.

The metal frame labeled the work "Sunflowers." Although the name in the lower left corner was a little rusty, I was deeply shocked by the fact that it was the name of a famous painter engraved in history textbooks.

But he didn't care about these things at all, and headed towards the innermost part as if no one was around.

In the most inconspicuous corner, there stood an unfinished easel standing alone.

Other paintings and gold products are kept at a considerable distance from it.

Is that an oil painting?

Then the deacon.

He was caught off guard and raised the sonic screwdriver.

The tip of the sonic screwdriver erupted with super-vibratory sound waves that no human could withstand.

In the violet light, it looked like rusty metal scraping against the glass.

The two ghosts hiding beside the portrait were forced out.

The middle-aged man wearing a straw hat, without much clear will, instinctively protected a young girl.

He stood in front of the girl and faced the sound wave.

They didn't look like menacing ghosts at all. They looked more like a pair of innocent victims, teetering on the brink of collapse under the sonic waves created by the sonic screwdriver.

He didn't feel that there was anything wrong with his behavior.

He wants to use the most efficient and simple means to allow the souls that should not exist in this world to return to that world.

If they continue to exist here, it will not only be a problem for the living, but also for themselves...

His sonic screwdriver looked like a butcher's knife.

His fingertips plucked the strings, and he couldn't help but want to adjust and enhance them...

"Butler...Butler, this is so rude! Stop it!"

The cuffs were pulled.

He was aware of the people around him.

Continue to increase the sound waves. Even if I am fine, the person next to me...

The sound waves were turned off.

After the sound waves stopped, the middle-aged man instinctively stiffened and staggered back to the easel to continue painting.

Repeating the endless cycle in the battery that he never finished

The girl, still maintaining her mannequin-like pose, couldn't help but scrutinize the two strangers who had intruded without permission.

——She is a real ghost.

A lethal dose of Doctor Who memes... By the time I started wondering if people who don't watch Doctor Who could really understand it, I'd already finished writing this chapter...

I messed up... I reached the limit for copying and pasting, so I lost two thousand words... I haven't even finished the free chapters yet, but the word count has been increased to VIP...

Extra: 【Extra】Miss Charlotte and her crush, Butler String Scroll

When the second sun rose from the south, the whole city of Paris was bathed in dawn.

The middle-aged man finally fulfilled his obsession.

He just stood there in front of the drawing board, basking in the light of the second sun, and then disappeared.

The originally blank canvas is filled with a smiling girl in a 17th-century dress.

The servants of the Sanyuan family went in and out under the fireplace mechanism, assessing the countless precious paintings in this secret room.

By the way, he cleaned up the gold products on the ground like sweeping garbage and gathered them together.

From time to time, he would peek at the ghost girl who was finally visible to ordinary people thanks to the sonic screwdriver.

For them who have been working in the Sanyuan family for many years, this kind of thing is a bit too exciting.

Xian Juangan just rested on the cleaned and brand new wall, watching everything indifferently.

At the request of Miss Charlotte of Sanyuan, he deliberately made it difficult to obtain pigments and painting tools of the same era and origin, accurate to the date. But it was just a request.

Within ten minutes, the servants of the Sanyuan family airdropped the required old materials from some museum.

Xian Juangan, whose face turned pale but whose words were already too final, used this pile of garbage to create new periodic table substances and repaired the unfinished drawings that had long been impossible to paint after a hundred years.

And through the amplification given by the sonic screwdriver, the middle-aged male cyber ghost finally materialized and gained the tactile ability to touch paper and pen.

He is an art student who failed the college entrance examination.

The middle-aged man had repeatedly applied to famous art schools in the Netherlands, but was repeatedly rejected and not favored by the academy.

Finally, at the age of 37, the middle-aged man left the examination room without completing his work and joined the army in anger.

It was after joining the army that he discovered his true talent.

During the war, they betrayed their own country and defected to the invaded country.

And in the following battles, with his military talent that was comparable to the ability to see into the future, he won victory after victory and completed a series of miraculous comeback victories.

Since then, middle-aged men have been active in various battles for liberation and freedom, calling for fighting for peace.

He even rebelled against Tiangang and led the troops of other countries to invade Paris, France, becoming a great French commander.

At the age of 73, he suffered a musket attack in his later years, ending his legendary life.

His reputation is notorious in French history, but it cannot be denied that he was a military genius.

Under such circumstances, the value of his paintings, which could not be exchanged for a bowl of noodles even if all of them were sold, gradually increased, and he eventually became a famous painter of his generation.