Chapter 46: Domain…and a Well-Intentioned Question
1242 Words
Sherlock's demon did indeed have a problem.
Not long ago, his worm…or rather, his [tentacles], in a dream, assimilated a corpse dog. While this kind of demon wasn't particularly powerful, it at least had teeth and claws, and was fast enough to be somewhat helpful when summoned;
The key was that it wouldn't be a loss if it died.
So, when Sherlock first chased it to the long street, he tried to tear open a spatial rift to summon the dog.
However, at that moment, with a thought…
A spatial rift did appear.
However, not in front of him.
It appeared in…uh…Baker Street;
This sounded very strange—the spatial rift had appeared on the second floor of 221B Baker Street, in his newly rented small apartment!
Sherlock was completely stunned. Baker Street was several kilometers away!
All contractors share a common understanding: the control over demons has a limited range. Even the most powerful manipulation-type contractors, revered by the Church, can only control demons up to a few hundred meters away. Beyond this distance, they cannot open void rifts, let alone control demons.
However, Sherlock could clearly sense the dog's every move and control it with unparalleled ease.
This control distance, exceeding the limits of comprehension, was enough to astound any contractor, even those researchers at the 'Academy of Life Sciences' who spent their days studying demons.
Sherlock himself was initially surprised, but then he awkwardly discovered that the corpse dog seemed unable to leave the rented room!
It wasn't because the door was locked or the dog couldn't turn the doorknob… but rather, it seemed unable to leave that area. To put it more bluntly, the corpse dog could only move within the area crawled by the tentacles.
What the hell was going on?
Was a contractor limited to summoning demons in fixed locations?
While the crawling of the tiny tentacles could expand the domain's range, summoning on Baker Street would require crawling the entire street first?
Summoning in the Lower City would require covering the entire Lower City with his domain in that hellish world?
Well, for a moment, Sherlock wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not. If he thought about it this way, when his domain expanded to all of London, wouldn't he be able to summon his contracted demon anytime, anywhere, no matter where he was?
And what about beyond London…? The entire continent?
The entire Empire?
But this thought lasted less than half a second before Sherlock gave a wry smile.
Theoretically, it was possible, but crawling the entire length of Baker Street with that tiny tentacle, which was at most seven or eight centimeters long, would probably take several weeks. And crawling the entire Lower City would take ten or eight years.
As for London… or the entire Empire.
"Haha, by then, humanity would have long since driven the demons back to the gates of hell, or perhaps they'd already been slaughtered by them."
"Sigh..." He sighed inwardly. He wasn't sure whether he should tell Watson about this strange summoning method, or even how to.
Fortunately, Watson wasn't that curious.
The two chatted idly, the assassin being dragged along the ground by his ankles, his head banging against countless things along the way. Luckily, he was a contractor; otherwise, he might have easily died...
...
...
An hour later, on a small street near the city center, Sherlock and Watson entered a nicely decorated apartment building.
There was even an elevator.
The more bustling a place was during the day, the more chaotic it became at night. The streets were deserted. They arrived at the 13th floor, Watson's home.
"I didn't expect you to be even richer than I imagined," Sherlock said.
“I have some experience in battlefield medics, so sometimes I go on missions with the field team, you know… the Vatican’s stipends are always generous.” Watson said, opening the door to his house and making a gentlemanly gesture of ‘please come in.’
The interior wasn’t lavish, but it possessed a very high aesthetic quality, just as Watson had once said, he appreciated beautiful things…
Moreover, everything in the house was arranged meticulously, even the carpets and tabletops were placed at angles parallel or right angles to the walls, without the slightest deviation.
A person with dusty shoes would probably feel embarrassed to enter such a room.
Fortunately, Sherlock wasn’t exactly known for his manners.
So he dragged the assassin inside, the bloodstains on the man leaving a striking, bright red trail on the spotless floor.
Watson, however, didn't even glance at her, still appearing quite happy. He led Sherlock to a closed door, then pulled out a key and looked at Sherlock: "Um… I sometimes take on side jobs, so I converted a bedroom myself. You shouldn't be surprised, right?" A hint of embarrassment flickered in her naturally alluring eyes.
Sherlock nodded: "I knew it. Being so sensitive to the smell of blood, I knew it couldn't be explained simply by 'being a doctor.' I'd believe you if you said you were soaking in blood every day." Watson relaxed, then slowly turned the key and pushed open the door… A strong smell of disinfectant mixed with the stench of blood wafted out. Watson fumbled on the wall for a moment, then found the gas light valve.
"Buzz buzz buzz…" With a few soft sounds, the room lit up, and Sherlock, somewhat unexpectedly, let out a 'whoosh'.
Before me was a small room, its walls thickly covered with a layer of foam. There were no windows, making it much dimmer than I had expected.
Along the walls stood several large display cases, rows of unidentifiable organs preserved in formaldehyde.
However, more shocking than these was the enormous operating table in the center of the room, stained with dried blood.
It hardly qualify as an operating table; it resembled a butcher's block. Dark brown leather belts dangled from its edges. A medical cart beside it held tools such as pliers, saws, and needles, sparsely dotted with bright red stains and what appeared to be minced meat.
In short, a cacophony of grotesque elements filled every corner, making the room utterly terrifying and filthy, a stark contrast to the clean living room outside.
Watson smiled, picking at the newly scabbed wound on his fingertip to suppress a certain restlessness within him, but his expression remained as gentle and humble as ever. He said apologetically,
"I'm sorry, I always get a little excited when I enter this room, and after the excitement comes a period of fatigue, so I often forget to tidy up... But the equipment is quite sturdy, and the walls are soundproofed, so you don't need to be so careful when you ask this gentleman questions later." Sherlock was silent for a moment, looking at the handsome man before him, then down at the assassin who occasionally twitched. It seemed to be the first time in his life that he felt... some people might be better at 'asking questions' than he was.
“Um…or…you could do it?”
“Me?” Watson hesitated. “That would be so embarrassing.”
“It’s alright. I can tell you really enjoy this kind of thing, and I just want him to answer a few questions. It doesn’t matter who does it.”
“Well…” Watson’s expression revealed a chilling shyness. He smiled handsomely. “Alright, I’ll do it…”
- Writer
