118 A Letter from a Stranger 1

It was a hot afternoon. Everything burned white-hot under the sun. Evaporated water droplets were blown toward Avalon by the lazy ocean breeze, adding to the suffocating humidity. As everyone sweated in the humid climate, the entire city smelled like burnt stew.

But the library of an exquisite mansion uptown was filled with cool air. A steady stream of air conditioning blew in from the pipes, making it possible to be comfortable even in the summer heat. An aged man sat behind the table. He wore a monocle and was entirely focused on cleaning his beloved pipe. Panicked footsteps suddenly sounded outside the door. He looked up, furrowing his brow, to see his old housekeeper push the door open hurriedly. 

The housekeeper was drenched in sweat, and he looked shocked. He looked at his master in fear, unable to speak. He panted as if he had run all the way from the gate. He was shaken, as if he had been running for his life, and gripped a letter in his hands.

"M-master Spencer," he rushed over and placed the opened letter on the table, "I was getting the mail, please look at this."

"Who is it from? Didn’t I say that you could reply for me if it was insignificant?" Furrowing his brow, Spencer opened the folded paper. Skimming the content, it seemed unimportant. It looked like a letter from a junior. The sender asked about his health, thanked him for his care, and said they they felt lucky to receive his advice at a wedding last month…last month? He froze, a bad feeling overcame him, "Did I attend a wedding on the seventh of last month?"

"No, Master." Cullen, who knew Spencer’s schedule well, and shook his head, "The seventh of the last month…that was when they came for the goods."

"They? Goods?" Spencer’s mind went blank and he froze. He looked down at the letter and read it again. The seemingly plain lines seemed to hint at the exchange that no one was supposed to know about. The amount of goods, the time they had left the pier, the distribution channels. The shipment of cargo that no one was supposed to know about, the illegal arms that should have been hidden in the darkness, the secrets that were never to be revealed were all known by whoever sent the letter!

Six hundred heavy armor suits, seventy new watcher crossbows, and most importantly… five archangel armor suits—the new assassin weapon created by the Royal Institute of Research. These secrets should have gone soundlessly into the Dark World, unknown by anyone. They should have been, they should have been…they f*cking should have been! But now someone had seen through it all. He had even left his name at the end of the letter, arrogant and mocking—Sherlock Holmes! That was what the man had written at the bottom of the letter.

Reading the last line, Spencer’s face grew pale and he fell into a daze.

"The goods have been…discovered, Master." Housekeeper Cullen’s voice was hoarse.

"Impossible!" Spencer was furious, but seeing the old housekeeper’s panicking eyes, he did not know where to direct his anger! "F*ck, f*ck…" Gritting his teeth, he crumpled up the letter, threw it on the ground and furiously stomped on it. When he finally calmed down, he turned and asked, "Who delivered the letter?"

"A beggar threw it into the mailbox. He escaped before we could catch him." The housekeeper wiped at his sweat, "Master, should we…"

"Keep calm!" Spencer squeezed out from between his teeth, "It is not completely out of control. We can still handle this." Trying to ignore his trembling lungs, Spencer muttered to himself as if trying to comfort himself, "We can still push it down. No one will know. No one…"

"Master, Master!" A servant knocked on the door. When he entered, he was met by the room’s suffocating atmosphere and two gloomy gazes. "What happened?"

Spencer’s eyes were murderous, "Do I allow servants to disturb me when I am in the library?"

"Th-there are two guests. They want to see you."

"Can’t you see that I’m busy?!" Furious, Spencer slammed the pipe down, forgetting that it was his beloved possession. Venting his anger, he roared, "Tell them to get the f*ck out! I don’t want to see anyone! Do you understand?!"

"Th-they said…" The servant gulped, "they said they’re from the Fifth Division. They want to consult you about something."

Spencer froze. Old housekeeper Cullen turned stiffly, his eyes dazed, "The Fifth Division from…the army?" The servant nodded.

Cullen stumbled back and fell onto the ground. He had almost stopped breathing. The confident housekeeper could no longer keep up his proud stature. He suddenly seemed old, like someone with epilepsy. He gazed at Spencer, his eyes full of despair. "Master…"

The Fifth Division, the Hound Division, the crazy dog den, the executioner family, the cremation center, the nightmare division, were all of its nicknames.

As all knew, the military only had four divisions. There was no fifth division, yet it existed. It had been established in secret after the Dragon Riders had been banned. They were responsible for monitoring, intelligence, assassinations, and getting rid of anything that could not see the light. It was not a part of any group. They were wild dogs loyal only to the Royal family. The man in charge was an old guy who had experienced three kings, the hated lunatic—Maxwell. Under his lead, they had become Anglo’s nightmare. Everyone knew that this group of executioners only came if they had a reason…

"Master, Master… go, Master…" the servant frantically called his dazed master. He reached out but Spencer shrieked. Slapping the servant’s hand away, Spencer stumbled back, practically pressing himself against the wall.

"I won’t go!" Expression terrified, Spencer curled up in the corner, screaming like a lunatic, "I’m not going anywhere! The Rossis are noble men. They won’t do this to me!"

"Master, they’ve gone," the servant reported again, head lowered, "They’ve left."

Spencer froze, unable to believe it, "They left?"

"Yes." The servant nodded, "They said that you seemed to be busy, so they left an invitation. You’re welcome to visit them any time. They can also come take you there if you need them to."

Spencer collapsed into his chair, and stared blankly out the window. Under the blazing sun outside, two men clad in black entered the carriage and left soundlessly. They left. Did those crazy dogs really leave?

After a long time, Spencer finally recovered and commanded, "Out! Get out! I need to be alone…"

The servant helped the weak Cullen out the room. Alone in the still library, Spencer activated the hidden door and walked into a small room. He sat on the chair and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, he had become a bird of prey. A vulture flying in the sky.

--

When he arrived at the top of the clock tower, the secret meeting was already chaotic. The angry and panicking birds were all arguing and shouting at each other.

The vulture closed its wings. Landing in the center, he realized that those in attendance were all very familiar—they were all ‘partners’ he had worked with.

The weathered pelican was trying to maintain order, "Everyone, please calm down. Do not argue!"

"Pelican! Do you truly understand our state now?" the magpie screeched. "What’s the situation with the letter?"

The vulture flinched. He was not the only one to receive a letter. Making his way around, he discovered that a total of fourteen families had received a mysterious letter. Six families had already been visited by secret police.

"Where’s the green falcon?" the vulture asked.

"Taken away," the owl answered coldly, descending from the sky. "I just received the news a few minutes ago." The flock of birds fell silent, panic in their eyes.

"Please calm down." The pelican was much more composed in comparison, "It’s obvious that our relationship with the Pyramid Scheme has been discovered. The records of our illegal trades have been revealed. There is no turning back at this point. We need to take care of the aftermath. The aftermath, do you understand?"

"Who can this Holmes fellow be?" The owl grit its teeth in anger, "I want this b*stard to die without a complete corpse! Where’s the robin? Isn’t he in charge of downtown?"

"Panic not, friend. I am here." A blue robin descended from the sky, landing in the crowd. It said lightly, "My men are investigating."

"F*ck, all they can do is investigate and investigate!" the vulture roared. "Those useless pieces of sh*t can’t find anything!"

The pelican nodded, "The only ones who are willing to work for us in downtown is the Pyramid Scheme, but are they still trustworthy? We must receive an explanation from Sam!"

"Sam has disappeared. He knows that we’ll look for him. Of course he’ll hide" someone said.

The robin had a worse thought, "Or maybe he had already fallen into the hands of this Holmes."

Hesitating, the pelican said, "I can ask a musician from the School of Modifications for help. Maybe they can find some evidence from the letter."

"There’s no use. We’ve already done so." The owl shook his head, "The master Monet had already looked at the letter. There is nothing that can be traced—no fingerprints, no sweat, no body odor. The man wore gloves, and no medium can be used to trace his identity. He is skilled in this. He might even be a musician."

"What about the paper? The paper is the best medium!"

"We’ve tried it." The owl continued, "The things that the music score ‘Yesterday Once More’ found was too messy. It includes the breaths of many musicians, but we can’t find any matches. It’s as if the letters were written in the Musician’s Association!

"We don’t need the police either. Even a blind man can see that it was written by an elite…or the scribe of an elite family. Fellows, are your secretaries truly trustworthy?" The owl paused, his eyes flashing dangerously, "Or perhaps, is he one of us?"