When the plot-skips players into the game world Chapter 125: Chapter 82 Sherlock's Speculation

Tuesday morning.

Just awoken, Sherlock was curled up in the rocking chair he used as a bed, leisurely eating a sandwich Edward had brought him, covered with a wool coat.

Sherlock had low blood sugar. If he didn't imdiately eat sothing or drink so sugary water or honey water upon waking, his brain couldn't start working.

It could be a congenital problem, or perhaps he just didn't like eating.

If Edward hadn't brought him breakfast, he probably would have just settled for so honey water.

"You're going to get a stomach ulcer if you keep this up, Hers," Edward said, sitting in the chair next to Sherlock's desk, his voice grave.

He also held a similar sandwich. Soft white bread stuffed with beef, onions, cheese, lettuce, and plenty of cheese sauce.

It was the portable breakfast that Edward had instructed his house's cook to prepare in advance the night before.

Because he knew Sherlock wouldn't eat breakfast if he could help it.

Though having a sandwich for breakfast might seem a bit shabby for the Moriarty family, if the food were any richer or more complex, Sherlock would probably be even less inclined to eat.

Squinting his eyes, Sherlock said lazily, "I usually try to keep myself hungry. That way, my brain can function more actively."

"Are you practicing asceticism?"

"Asceticism? Oh, no, no, no..."

With a light chuckle, Sherlock perked up, clearly interested, "Why would you think I'm torturing myself for wisdom like a monk?"

"Isn't that the case?" Edward retorted.

"Of course not," Sherlock replied. "Caring too much about sothing can easily trap you in formalities and discipline. That defeats the original purpose of seeking wisdom.

"I admit that good things are indeed good. If good things and bad things are placed before , and I have a choice, I will naturally tend to choose the better of the two.

"But does that an the worse ones are unacceptable? Not necessarily. As long as they et the need, it doesn't really matter which one I choose—in other words, I don't necessarily have to choose the better one."

As he spoke, Sherlock tossed the last bite of beef sandwich into his mouth.

Chewing, he mumbled, "Honey water and a sandwich can both wake up my brain. So I'll just eat whichever one ends up in my hands. You can't expect to go downstairs to buy a sandwich looking all groggy, right? You don't know the terrible feeling of your brain grinding to a halt like a dry engine."

"Then you might as well hire a maid to take care of you."

"Oh, no, no, let's forget that idea. My dear friend,"

Sherlock shook his head vigorously, indicating a strong refusal. "You know, every docunt, every file in my room has its own place. All of my bottles and jars have their own, sowhat arcane way of being arranged. No one but can place them so satisfactorily, so precisely right."

"In this regard, you're quite like Aiwass," Edward remarked, glancing at the cramped and ssy room piled with various books, docunts, and materials. "Honestly, you need soone to take care of your daily life. Why not just move back ho? At least the cook there could make you decent als three tis a day."

"Heh, forget about it."

With a snort of laughter, Sherlock leaned back and the rocking chair began to sway gently. "If I go back ho, the old man would start arranging blind dates and marriage for again...

"The brain slows down after overeating, numb after drinking. Whether falling in love with soone, obsessing over reputation, or desperately craving money and wealth, it can also make your mind unclear.

"You know, Edward. The Path of Wisdom is a selfish one. The truth is destined to be sought alone. Marriage is just too much trouble for ."

"Hearing this makes think you've traveled quite far on the Path of Wisdom."

Edward's calm expression didn't change. "Isn't the furthest path you've walked the one of authority? Besides, you're twenty-six, it's about ti you got married. It's normal for Lord Arthur to be anxious about it."

"...That's just temporary. Soon, my Path of Wisdom will overtake it."

Sherlock responded vaguely, then quickly countered, "And what about you? Aren't you thirty-five and not yet married?"

Edward just shook his head slightly, his voice unfluctuating, "That's because I'm a widower.

"I got married in my early twenties, but then my wife passed away unexpectedly."

"...You've never ntioned that to before."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, his amber pupils slightly widening with interest.

But he did not pursue the topic here.

The late wife of Chief Inspector Edward—such significant occurrences in the lives of important figures could easily be investigated. Not bringing it up now was a sign of respect for Edward, and also confidence in his own investigative abilities.

Edward did not offer any further explanations either, but instead ca over and passed over today's edition of the Glass Staircase Daily.

Lying back in his rocking chair, Sherlock sat up to take the newspaper, then lay down again.

He rocked in the chair, his head tilted slightly. He seed to grow sleepy again after his al, taking a long ti just to get through the front page.

Edward, who had been standing by the side, had waited for a long ti and finally couldn't help but ask, "Do you see it? Aiwass has made it to the newspapers again, and it's the front-page headline."

"I knew about it yesterday."

Sherlock said lazily, "The mont I walked into the club and saw His Highness, I guessed it. Co to think of it, when we were in school, didn't we also have a 'Crystal Ballet Shoes' badge?"

"Only you had it. I've never been interested in music."

Edward replied offhandedly.

He was eating a sandwich on the side, waiting for Sherlock to finish reading the newspaper before he asked, "What do you think?"

"Not good. But not bad either."

Sherlock threw the Glass Staircase Daily aside carelessly, "The assassination of Secretary Raff in broad daylight has had an extrely negative impact. But that's just an intentional exaggeration of the tense atmosphere.

"What's really important is that this event took place beside Princess Isabel. And that Director Gordon ultimately failed to arrest that professional assassin."

"Although according to our investigation of the scene yesterday, Director Gordon's actions could be said to be completely correct. But many tis, what you actually do is not important... the important thing is what you make people believe you've done.

"In any case, Gordon let a very dangerous assassin escape. It's already the end of November, and in a little over a month it will be the new year. If this matter is not properly resolved soon, public opinion will turn. An escaped assassin capable of murder and a high-ranking Transcendent is basically an accusation against the Supervisory Bureau of negligence. By that ti not only Gordon but the entire Supervisory Bureau might be under pressure—hasn't your Supervisory Court been wanting to reduce the powers of the Supervisory Bureau for a long ti now?"

"Indeed it is his incompetence. But dealing with Director Gordon now would only make people realize that the problem is out of control, causing even more panic and making the situation even more uncontrollable."

Edward said in a low voice, "Therefore, the Supervisory Bureau plans to hold a large-scale comndation ceremony for Aiwass this week to sculpt his achievents and divert the public's attention."

"Wasn't there already one comndation for the incident at the Pelican Bar last ti?" Sherlock asked, puzzled.

"They've combined the two comndations into one. It's still scheduled for Thursday afternoon. This ti, instead of awarding the 'Crystal Cross dal', they are going directly for the Holy Sword dal."

Edward said solemnly.

"Wow."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow: "Under what pretext? The Holy Sword dal is generally given to warriors who have made ritorious contributions to the protection of the nation or who have earned distinctions on the battlefield, isn't it?"

"'For single-handedly discovering and thwarting a Transcendent assassin's attempt on Princess Isabel's life'."

"Ah? It's beco an attempted assassination? And Secretary Raff has beco an innocent bystander?"

The young man with ssy curly black hair lazily reclined in a rocking chair and sneered, "That's not impossible. Let them report it that way for now."

"...For now?"

Edward caught the implication in Sherlock's words: "What have you found?"

"It's not an investigation, but rather deduction. This is a truly interesting case, my friend. I thought about it all night yesterday, and didn't get to sleep until three or four in the morning."

Sherlock said as he pulled out his notebook, "Let's start with the most crucial parts of the case, prioritizing them by their urgency and importance.

"I have finished decoding those docunts, which are written in a cipher language full of addresses and nas.

"You probably don't care about the inference process in the middle. I'll go straight to the conclusion—the docunts found at the scene are related to a smuggling case at the port."

"...You an the 'Sweater Brothers Association' lead?"

"Yes. Which ans Trade Minister Drost is likely involved with the smuggling case.

"And I've also identified the assassin. That one ca from the Order of the Iris Flower assassins known as 'Hawkeye.' Only they would use such a special weapon. They are remnants of the Black Hawk Duchy's collapse... rcenary types. They may take on commissions from anyone, including attacks on nobles and even royal families of various countries."

At this point, Sherlock closed his notebook.

He looked aningfully at Edward, "What circumstances, do you think, would cause an assassin from Iris Flower to travel such a long distance to brazenly kill the personal secretary of a minister directly involved with the Star Antimony Kingdom smuggling case?"

"I think it's for framing soone."

Edward responded without hesitation: "So, the deceased was positioned with the docunts, facing away from the killer, and fell from the second floor to the ground. This suggests that he was more likely delivering the docunts rather than fetching them."

"Oh, your theory does make so sense,"

Sherlock comnted, a slight smile appearing on his lips, "But unfortunately, that possibility does not exist. Because I confird yesterday that the notes on these docunts and the code language we intercepted from the Sweater Brothers Association's cargo manifest clearly co from the sa person. After cracking the coding rule, I successfully decoded the docunts and found that they list one warehouse after another and the corresponding warehouse manager.

"Thank heavens, I have docunts here that Secretary Raff signed in the past. Although he controlled his stroke deliberately, I'm positive it's the sa person who wrote it.

"So, I thought of a possibility. Soone in control of Minister Drost's incriminating evidence wishes to expose him."

"That's... possible..."

Edward muttered softly, looking at Sherlock, and asked in a steady, clear voice, "So who do you think it could be?"

"Analyzing from the aspects of personal connections, motives, capabilities, and alibis," Sherlock paused, "I think it might be your father, Professor Moriarty."