Distorting Black and White

June 11, 1399, morning.

Lynch walked out of the Police Club feeling refreshed, feeling that life was truly wonderful.

When life and safety were on the line, Lynch didn't dare to be lazy like in his past life. Thus, as soon as his body recovered, he resumed his daily training.

It wasn't suitable for him to do overly strenuous exercise yet, so after completing his walking endurance training, he chose shooting practice.

After not seeing him for half a month, the shooting instructor still remembered his star pupil and showed ample concern. He very kindly advised Lynch to go home and rest for another few decades to fully recover before coming back. Lynch was deeply moved—and then rejected the suggestion.

Ignorant denizens of an alternate world! You've surely never heard the ancient saying from my homeland about how three days apart makes a person worthy of a fresh look. Judging someone by old standards leads nowhere; it's time to show you what real progress looks like!

And so, Lynch calmed his mind, steadied his arm, aimed carefully, and slowly fired ten bullets.

Well, the results didn't matter. What mattered was that he accumulated a little more experience. Experience was gained bit by bit like this; no one achieved success overnight.

Right, the results didn't really represent anything. He mainly hadn't touched a gun in twenty days, so his feel was rusty. Besides, the gunpowder in this world was terrible—the muzzle drifted, making it hard to aim.

At least the gas pipe was unharmed today. And while the instructor's hair might have a slight issue, his hat was still intact, right? So overall, progress had definitely been made.

Although he didn't know why the instructor was muttering about resigning, Lynch left the training field feeling thoroughly satisfied.

Outside, the sunlight was dazzling. Lynch shielded his eyes with a hand, and as he looked up, he caught sight of a bright smile bathed in the sun.

Miss Valente's face.

The impeccably made-up noble lady stood gracefully by a carriage under a floral parasol. Neither the surging crowds nor the passing carriages could obscure the radiant charm emanating from her.

This girl is really pretty. Wait, no—why is she using her real face? Did she not use her mystery relic, Karina's Exquisite Makeup?

On second thought, it made sense. Their primary objective today was to meet Chairman Grant and the sewer ghouls. She was representing her family in person, so she obviously couldn't go in disguise.

“That's right, there's no need for disguise today. Besides, I finally have the chance to experience what it feels like to investigate a case like Professor Moriarty! Going in under a fake face felt like missing something,” the noble lady said as she waved the copy of 《The Moriarty Case Files》 cradled in her arms. But just as her smile bloomed, her expression suddenly froze. “Huh? How do you even know the name of my mystery relic?”

“Because I'm a detective, and I deduced it...” Lynch was about to fabricate an excuse, but seeing Miss Valente's sparkling eyes and brilliant smile, the lie died on his lips. After a moment of silence, he hung his head and answered, “Well, my inspiration is quite high, so I can directly perceive mystery relics.”

“I see. So when we first met at city hall, you had already noticed me. No wonder you recognized me at a glance at the square cafe later. And here I thought the incredible deductions in stories actually existed in real life. Turns out they don't after all. What a pity.”

Though she expressed regret, Miss Valente's face did not look disappointed in the slightest. Instead, her smile bloomed like a flower. Her watery gaze swept across Lynch's face as she said softly:

“In that case, you'll have to make it up to me properly and show me what a real detective looks like.”

“Hiss... did you realize long ago that I was just teasing you back then?”

“Who knows?” The noble lady blinked mischievously, her smile momentarily mesmerizing Lynch. “Definitely not! The people around detectives in stories are all supposed to be silly, right? Hehehe, hurry, let's get in the carriage.”

What on earth is this girl so happy about?

Watching the noble lady's back as she moved like a sly, playful sprite from myth, Lynch stood rooted to the spot in confusion. He stared blankly at the old steward, Mr. Louis, who was acting as the coachman, feeling like his brain wasn't quite keeping up.

Hmm? Wait, you're a steward, not a bodyguard! Why are you resting a hand on your pistol while staring at me?! I didn't do anything to cross you! What is wrong with everyone in your family? Why does everyone carry a gun everywhere?!

Thoroughly startled, Lynch obediently squeezed into the carriage, which then carried them toward the outskirts. Along the way, he hesitated for a while before deciding against bringing up Countess Hathaway.

He could certainly trust Miss Valente with his own affairs, but this matter involved the countess's identity as an apostle of an evil god.

Although Bastet, the cat god, was a relatively mild evil god, and the countess's background was no secret to the Lande royal family—meaning she likely didn't fear exposure—an evil god was still an evil god no matter how friendly. They could not be judged by human standards of good and evil. It wouldn't be surprising if she suddenly did something erratic, so caution was best.

Furthermore, Miss Valente was a believer of the Lady of Suffering, one of the twelve major gods. The primary churches and cultists had always been like fire and water. After considering it, Lynch decided it was better not to invite unnecessary trouble.

Soon, the signboards of buildings outside the carriage window grew sparse, and the surrounding scenery turned quiet and secluded.

Unlike the vast farmland of Green Wheat District, this was the northern side of Rhine City, on the highway leading toward Bester Mountain. On both sides of the road were rolling, low hills, covered with a sprawling expanse of tombstones.

Rhine City Cemetery had arrived.

Rhine City Cemetery was a public institution maintained jointly by the four official churches of Lande, serving as a resting place for Rhine's commoners after death. Although it was free, it was maintained fairly well—the environment was quiet, the tombstones orderly, and the corpses properly buried underground, with none seen wandering about.

At least, not during the daytime.

Putting away their smiles, the two pulled down their hats to shade their faces, stepped out of the carriage, and entered the cemetery. After winding through the tombstones for a while, they arrived near a small memorial.

The Crown Square Massacre Memorial.

It was quiet beside the memorial. Standing beneath it was a single man dressed in a finely tailored, light-colored suit and wearing a wig. He rhythmically tapped his cane against the ground, looking thoroughly impatient.

“Your Excellency Chairman Grant, standing beneath this memorial, how do you feel?”

Looking at this man, anger surged within Lynch. This person was the representative figure of Rhine City's industry, which was precisely why he had been elected Chairman of the House of Commons.

Yet this was the same man who had not only used a mystery relic recklessly to boost production, causing the deaths of hundreds of workers, but who had also helped the sewer ghouls excavate Zur-Baha-Sahr just to push forward the Bester Tunnel project and reap a fortune. He gave zero thought to the potential calamity it might bring and had even instructed his subordinates to stage the Crown Square stampede tragedy, leading to the tragic deaths of over a hundred people.

Lynch, having just transmigrated into this world, had personally witnessed that tragedy. Seeing over a hundred people crushed to death had dealt him a massive shock. Coming from a civilized society, it was the first time he realized that some people could abandon their humanity so completely for profit, sinking to such insanely cruel depths. Consequently, Lynch had always despised him. Unfortunately, the laws of this world were not yet comprehensive, and Grant had effectively cleared himself of responsibility, leaving the legal system unable to punish him.

“My mood is awful, and my heart aches deeply,” the factory owner in the wig slowly turned his head. Seeing Miss Valente appear did not surprise him in the least; he merely answered calmly, “These people were heroes who sacrificed themselves for Lande's transportation and industrial development. Their sacrifices should have crushed the conspiracies of those hillmen, brought more orders to Rhine, provided massive employment opportunities for over a decade, and generated countless Lande pounds. But unfortunately, you destroyed everything, rendering their deaths completely meaningless. Hundreds of lives were wasted for nothing, achieving nothing in return. Do you not feel heartache and guilt?”

Distorting black and white.

Lynch clenched his fists, forcing down the rage blazing in his chest. He glanced at Miss Valente beside him; her face had turned pale with fury, her lips trembling.

Lynch didn't consider himself a champion of justice, nor did he have an obligation to enforce the law on its behalf, but he still decided to teach this man a severe lesson—one that would break him down to his bones.

Right beneath this memorial, before all the victims.