Chapter 73: The Book—
1013 Words
Sherlock had only asked Andrew to turn himself in, but who knew why the young man insisted on revealing his name?
Whatever, he wasn't that bothered.
At this moment, he was probably only interested in his contracted creatures… oh, no, in the hellish demons possessed by these tentacles. Otherwise, he wouldn't be holding the head of a corpse dog, repeatedly observing the faint red glow deep within its pupils.
Clearly, this red glow appeared after the tentacles absorbed the gouged-out demons, and Sherlock also sensed that these corpse dogs now possessed an attribute they didn't originally have:
—Spreading Fear.
Not only these dogs, but even the tentacles crawling on the ground had the ability to spread fear. When they overwhelmed the group of shelled demons blocking their path, several of them even frantically tried to get up and run away.
"It seems these little guys can steal demonic abilities in some way," he muttered.
“No, that gouged-out demon’s ability was to use fear to restrict its target’s movements, while the stolen ability directly spreads fear. Although there’s some connection in the attributes, there are significant differences.
So, this isn’t simply ‘stealing,’ but rather absorbing it and transforming it into something more suitable for itself, like eating—consuming muscle fibers and converting them into proteins and amino acids.
Fully automatic, no need to worry at all.” Sherlock nodded in satisfaction…
However, just then, he suddenly frowned, then turned his head to look in a certain direction…
Actually, there was nothing there, just some dilapidated buildings, weathered ruins, and tentacles occasionally crawling out from the rubble.
Sherlock wasn’t looking at these things, of course. In his domain, ‘looking’ was merely a subconscious action he’d been accustomed to for decades.
He now relied primarily on his senses…
He could clearly feel that, not long ago, his domain had expanded to the vicinity of a building five kilometers away, and then countless tentacles had surrounded that building, preparing to gradually take it over.
And during this process… or rather, in that instant just now, they seemed to have discovered something… The tentacles couldn't express their exact meaning, but the group of little creatures seemed to be circling something, constantly coiling up, waiting for Sherlock's arrival.
This had never happened before, so he was very curious, and then…
With a “snap,” he snapped his fingers, and immediately, the horse, its entire body as if burned to ashes, pulled the carriage to his side.
Sherlock got up and sat in the carriage…
There was no driver, so there was no need to say the destination; the horse clearly understood its master's intentions, so it simply exhaled some dust from its nostrils and then galloped off along the long street…
It must be said, the transportation in Hell is far superior to that in the real world.
Especially in the cleared area, there were almost no traffic jams, and certainly no annoying situations like "all vehicles on the street having to wait until the Vatican personnel left before they could proceed"!
Plus, the Ash Horse galloped freely, faster than a steam train, covering several kilometers in no time.
Sherlock got out of the carriage and looked up at the building before him…
It resembled a church, but was much more square, lacking ornate carvings and decorations, the dazzling stained glass, and even the bell tower and the Vatican's signature sunflower emblem.
It possessed only the oldest architectural style, the simplest blue brick walls, and two rows of incredibly thick stone pillars outside the massive, nearly five-meter-high doors, leading to a staircase nearly a hundred stories high. Although the infernal sandstorms had rendered everything dilapidated, it still exuded a strange solemnity and reverence.
Sherlock, of course, recognized this building.
In the real world, almost every Londoner, even every citizen of the Empire, knows this place. Even the recent inaugurations of the Mayors of London have all been held here.
The British Library…
This is a building that existed long before the gates of hell opened, older than 90% of London's buildings. It houses over forty million books, some with texts whose origins are untraceable. It embodies the civilization before the Holy Calendar and inherits its name from that era. Even though the ancient kingdom represented by its prefix no longer exists, no one dares to change it.
Legend has it that during the Second Demon Invasion, the defenses here were higher than those of the entire strategic command center of London. In countless battles against the demons, countless people died around this building. Demon corpses and bullets piled up along the streets, blood splattering to the top of the high steps. Even library staff and academic luminaries took up arms and swords to fight the demons.
Even amidst such fierce fighting, the dead ensured that not a single book in the library was destroyed. As some survivors put it… everyone had something to protect. The warriors fought to safeguard the citizens of the empire, while the scholars fought to ensure the transmission of history and knowledge. When necessary, even the weaklings who would lose a fight with a child would abandon all reason and decorum.
…So…what was discovered in this library?
Sherlock, filled with doubt, ascended the steps and entered the decaying yet still magnificent hall. He passed towering bookshelves nearly collapsed by the wind and sand, narrow corridors, and long tables piled with crimson dust. Finally, he arrived at a very inconspicuous little room.
Compared to all the scenes he had just passed, this little room was almost like a storage room for brooms.
Meanwhile, countless tiny tentacles swarmed around a wooden bookshelf leaning against the wall, slowly crawling but maintaining a safe distance, seemingly afraid to approach.
Sherlock approached the bookshelf, and the tentacles obediently parted to the sides.
The bookshelf was low, even shorter than him, and only a few books were sparsely placed on it.
For some reason, the moment Sherlock's gaze fell upon the bookshelf, he was drawn to the title of one book:
—*The Divine Comedy*.
- Writer
