A Good Rest

It was already half past twelve in the afternoon on June 5th. After seeing off Sister Nightingale, who had come for a follow-up visit, Lynch took a comfortable bath. Surrounded by the three ladies—big and small—he enjoyed a lunch meticulously prepared by Mrs. Maggie before finally leaving the apartment with Officer Natalie and boarding a hired carriage.

Destination: the Scarecrow Club.

It wasn't that he didn't want to rest for a few more days, but the news brought by the female officer made Lynch unable to sit still.

The stack of photos that had killed the journalist Donnie was full of mysteries. Though clearly dangerous, they seemed to exude a strange allure that made Lynch unable to resist wanting to uncover the truth.

Lynch had asked Maya about them before, but Maya couldn't see any major issues with the photos, which was why she had asked Donnie to help find someone else to look at them. However, judging by the timeline, when the photos were taken and when she looked at them, she had already established a connection with Zur-Baha-Sahr and Mordiggian, having already stepped one foot out of the human realm. Thus, her perspective held little reference value.

This wasn't driven merely by curiosity—at least not entirely.

Because these photos were very likely tied to the secrets of the railway project, and the breakthrough for the next step of the investigation into the entire project might lie within this stack of photos.

Neither in his past life nor his present had Lynch liked owing favors. Having accepted someone's payment, he couldn't even sleep peacefully without fulfilling the commission as soon as possible. Thus, Lynch had kept this matter on his mind continuously. Now that there was finally a discovery, he feared that dragging it out would bring further variables. So, dragging his injured leg, he hurried toward the Scarecrow Club alongside Officer Natalie.

After all, in the world of the occult, nothing that happened was worth being surprised about.

“Mr. Klin sent someone to inform me not long ago. Even if something went wrong, it wouldn't happen this quickly. Besides, he’s an expert in deciphering mystery documents, so he wouldn't...”

“Stop. I get it. Don't keep saying such dangerous things—it's terrifying.”

Cold sweat broke out on Lynch. He nervously hopped out of the hired carriage, and seeing the Scarecrow Club before him, he finally let out a sigh of relief, trying to walk a few steps without relying on his cane.

Being able to walk normally on his own two legs again filled Lynch with considerable comfort.

Although one leg was thicker than the other and he limped with every step, the long-lost freedom made Lynch so excited he started half-running and hopping—until his leg buckled and he tumbled into Officer Natalie's embra— Stop, stop, stop! Don't pull me by the collar, you're going to strangle me!

With his bold thoughts thwarted, Lynch could only resort to walking normally. Mm, his recovery was actually going quite well. With proper rehabilitation over the next few days, he would soon return to normal.

Having not seen it for days, the Scarecrow Club remained the same as ever. There weren't many people around noon, with only a few familiar faces gathered around the lizard box, including the bearded Truen who had offered to lick his own boots. The group was studying something unknown, whispering and discussing from time to time, looking remarkably like fanatical lottery buyers back in his hometown analyzing numbers on the wall at a lottery shop.

“Hey, Natalie, and that Lynch guy!” The bearded Truen spotted the two immediately. “Didn't you break your leg? How are you already running over here for drinks? You don't want your leg anymore and plan to indulge in one last good drink? Hahaha, that sounds just like us!”

“I recovered quickly because Saint Sister Nightingale was my primary physician, personally treating me eight times in a row. Envious, aren't you?” Lynch’s gaze bypassed this idiot and winked at the handsome woman in men's clothing behind the bar counter. “Good afternoon, beautiful Linda. A beer for everyone present, on me.”

As he spoke, he lined up nine shillings on the bar counter.

Although his fluid capital was nearly depleted, money that needed to be spent had to be spent properly. This group had gone out in the middle of the night to fight the hillmen to save him—even though it was largely out of respect for Officer Natalie and they hadn't ended up helping much, Lynch still held that favor close to heart.

“Hahaha, you're boasting again! You tricked me last time, but I'm not buying it this time. Who do you think Mrs. Nightingale is? Even if Duke Vane fell ill, she wouldn't personally make an appearance. How could you get her to treat you personally, and eight times in a row? Hahaha, last time was just a joke—you don't actually think you're Emperor Rudolph II, do you? If you really managed to get the old lady to treat you personally, see these lizards in the glass tank? I'll eat them on the spot, one for every treatment session!”

“Extra, extra!” As the bearded Truen was laughing, the loud shouting of a newsboy drifted in from outside the window. “This morning, Her Excellency Saint Nightingale visited the Lynch Levive Detective Agency at Charles Square in the King District to comfort the detective injured during a case, fully displaying the compassionate heart of the Lord of Suffering!”

The shouts brought the racket in the bar to an abrupt halt. The crowd fell into a weird silence. Listening to the newsboy's voice gradually recede into the distance, their gazes shifted back and forth continuously between the lizard box and Truen's face.

“Emperor Rudolph II?” Lynch raised an eyebrow toward the lizard tank, his quiet voice strikingly clear in the silence.

Truen's face turned beet-red in an instant. Lowering his head in silence for a moment, he suddenly turned around and lunged straight at the glass tank containing the lizards.

“Stop it, you lunatics! That's gambling equipment!” Linda, the beauty in men's clothing, let out a furious roar.

“Dammit, Truen! What do you think you're doing to those precious lizards? Put them down!”

“When you lost yesterday, you kept mumbling about stewing them! I saw right through you! Stop!”

Boom, bang, crash!

In an instant, chaos erupted in the bar. Wine glasses and plates flew everywhere, as shattering sounds and raucous laughter joined together. In particular, a crowd surrounded the culprit who had tried to destroy the gambling equipment and kicked him mercilessly, his wails filling the bar with a cheerful atmosphere.

“Mr. Klin came up looking for you two again earlier. Seemed like something was up,” amidst the noise, another bartender in men's apparel ducked away from a flying glass and poked his head out from behind the counter. “He said to go down and see him as soon as you arrived.”

“Hmm? So urgent? Did he find an important clue?”

Lynch and Officer Natalie, who had been planning to step over and join in with a couple of kicks to satisfy themselves, paused and exchanged surprised looks. A wave of inexplicable unease welled up in their hearts. Wasting no further time, they gave a quick greeting to the hunters amidst the chaos and hurried downstairs.

The staircase walled off the noise outside. The underground space remained deep and silent. However, the heavy door of the archives was currently wide open, revealing the bright space inside.

What was going on? Did something really go wrong?

Their footsteps faltered. Officer Natalie tugged Lynch's wrist to pull him behind her, while Lynch tightened his grip on his cane. One behind the other, the two quickly approached the archives.

“You're here? Come in, I'm in my office.”

Mr. Klin's voice suddenly rang out. Although it startled the two on high alert, their suspended hearts settled back down.

A false alarm. They were just scaring themselves.

Lynch let out a self-deprecating laugh and followed the female officer into Mr. Klin's office.

Wrapped in a robe, Mr. Klin sat behind his desk. His face was pale, his spirits exhausted, and even his voice sounded quite frail. Pushing an iron box in front of him, he said, “I finally succeeded in deciphering it. I need to take a good rest for a while. The things are for you—they're all inside. See for yourselves.”

“Thank you very much.”

Lynch and the female officer both caught their breaths for a beat as they carefully took the iron box. The clue they had expended so much effort to find—the moment to unveil the answer had finally arrived, yet they felt a sudden hesitation to open the lid.

As the saying from his hometown went: hesitation grows closer to home.

Exchanging a look, Lynch grit his teeth and abruptly flipped open the box's lid.

The instant he saw clearly inside the box, Lynch felt his blood vessels constrict and his eyelids twitch. There were no photos inside the box—only a thick mound of paper ash.

Paper ash shaped like photos.

In shock, the two looked up at Mr. Klin behind the desk, only to see him, with a face full of fatigue, shove a revolver into his mouth and smile at them.

He then pulled the trigger.

Bang.