Chapter 20: Rewards??

Chapter 20: Rewards??

Chapter 20 - Rewards??

No matter how you listen to it, it has a strong underlying meaning. And...

"I have killed a few~" This answer is also awkward.

It's not that a detective can't kill people, but coming from Sherlock's mouth, coupled with his previous actions, it feels like there are countless strange and macabre stories behind those words.

Catherine squinted at him, remaining silent for a while. As a clergy member of the Holy See, she couldn't really let go of her identity to inquire about a commoner's past.

Fortunately, at this moment, Sherlock changed the subject himself. "Uh, did you mention... rewards?"

"What the Holy See bestows cannot be called rewards!... They should be called blessings!" Catherine corrected sharply.

"Of course, dear lady, whatever you say."Updated from novelbIn.(c)om

In Catherine's eyes, Sherlock's smile always seemed full of insincerity. She had to exert considerable effort to try to connect the person in front of her with the figure who had just demonstrated such extraordinary capabilities.

Then, she tilted her head slightly and asked, "So what do you want?"

She naturally exuded an air of superiority in her tone, because behind her was the Holy See. Receiving rewards from the Holy See was enough to make anyone feel elevated, as the Holy See wouldn't tell you what you could get; they would let you say it yourself, after all, the Holy See could fulfill almost any wish as long as you had the qualifications.

But even with such a question carrying supreme honor, it momentarily stumped Sherlock.

Rewards... Did he have to think about it himself?

Seeing Sherlock looking lost for words, Catherine thought he was overwhelmed by the grace of the Holy See. Finally, she smiled from the bottom of her heart and said, "I know it's a difficult question... but money, power, honor, all of those are possible. You can even ask for better service to the Holy Light. I can arrange for you to have your own church in the suburbs of London!"

Sherlock remained silent, his eyebrows furrowing tighter and tighter. The drizzle dripped into his unkempt stubble, which hadn't been trimmed in a while.

There were several occasions when he wanted to remind her that she could be rougher. After all, he had only been shot a few times. It would have been more convenient to dig out the bullets with his hands instead of using tweezers. But seeing the fine beads of sweat on her forehead and the gaze of fear that she couldn't meet his eyes, he didn't have the heart to disturb her.

A few minutes passed, and the wounds on his body had been mostly treated. The nun then performed a humble gesture known as the "act of submission" towards Sherlock, reverently, as if facing a clergy member of the Holy See.

Perhaps the High Priest or someone else had given some specific instructions to this nun...

In any case, Sherlock felt quite embarrassed. He awkwardly responded with an unfamiliar etiquette, "Thank you for your help."

This sentence made the nun tremble, and she glanced at him with a look of panic. She quickly bowed her head, silently reciting prayers, and exited the tent.

Shortly after the nun left, the tent curtain was lifted again.

This time, a Holy See guard without steam armor entered. After entering, he glanced at Sherlock with curiosity, gratitude, and, above all, fear, but he hid it well. He spoke with a respectful tone, "High Priest... please come over."

...

...

Sherlock lifted the curtain of a nearby tent, shaking off the rainwater from his body.

The tent was filled with medical equipment, some of which required electricity to operate. Sherlock wondered where the Holy See people obtained portable power sources.

In the center of the tent was a bed, looking somewhat out of place. The High Priest was currently lying on the bed, though he didn't appear to have any major injuries. However, there was an intravenous drip hanging above his arm, and a certain crimson liquid was flowing into his body through the tube.

"A nutrition solution, they say it relieves mental stress and reduces pain." Seeing Sherlock's gaze, the High Priest explained helplessly, "Those medical personnel always think that I'll die for various peculiar reasons."

"Considering your age, it's true that you're not suited for combat." Sherlock smiled in response, as if visiting an old friend lying in bed. "So why did you call me here?"

The High Priest moved back, allowing himself to semi-recline on the bed. He scrutinized Sherlock once again:

"Do you... want to become a contractor?"