Church of the Earth's Core

Spectating drama is human instinct! Gossip is etched into everyone's DNA. Enjoying drama knows no status, nor does it care about nationality, occupation, or social class. From dukes and princes above down to commoners below, everyone loves watching drama unfold. Especially live drama, fresh and hot from the scene—that drew a crowd like nothing else. A suicide had occurred at the inn. A geology professor from Londan had poisoned himself in his room, leaving behind a suicide note before his death. In it, the professor repented for his wretched life, confessing to many terrible things he had done to his friends and students, hoping his death would earn their forgiveness. Around noon, seeing that their knocks went unanswered, his traveling assistants and students had fetched the innkeeper to break down the door, discovering the professor's corpse and the suicide note. It seemed like an ordinary suicide: poison in a locked room along with a handwritten suicide note virtually ruled out homicide. Once the police arrived and went through the motions of confirming the scene, the case would essentially be closed. By a stroke of luck, a detective from Londan named Wesley happened to be staying at the inn. After circling the crime scene once, he insisted that the professor had been murdered under the guise of suicide. An inside job; the killer was among the traveling assistants and students. At almost the exact same time, Hood, a local detective from Enrold Town, came to the inn to deliver an investigation report to the professor. He, too, was convinced that the professor had died by murder. Hood had met the professor a few times and described him as an arrogant, selfish old bastard. The chances of someone like that suddenly seeing the light and killing himself to atone for his sins were exceedingly slim. There was no motive for suicide. If the professor had possessed even an ounce of remorse, he would have ended himself long ago instead of holding out until now. And so, the two detectives locked eyes. Wesley was quite a famous detective in Londan, in his thirties, with an impressive professional reputation. Hood was a local detective in Enrold Town, nearing fifty, widely praised for his professionalism and experience. Without another word, both immediately set to work on their investigations, each determined to crack the case and catch the real killer before the other. The onlookers were thrilled. They didn't care whether the professor was dead or alive, nor did they give a damn about who the killer was—they only wanted to see which of the two detectives was the better man. A dense crowd jammed the entrance of the inn, waiting for a victor to emerge. As the news spread, more and more townsfolk joined the rubbernecking army, blocking traffic entirely—and along the way, trapping Wayne's carriage. With home-field advantage, Hood enjoyed the support of ninety percent of the townsfolk. The betting odds were astronomical! Hood had the townsfolk's moral support, but when it came down to cold, hard cash, they trusted the gentleman detective from Londan. A famous detective who had fought his way up in Londan's cutthroat world was bound to be sharper than a local detective! What? You're asking where the police were? Some were directing traffic, while others were taking bets—officers of the Kingdom of Windsor were just that down-to-earth. The police chief was a lazy man. Seeing the two detectives, Wesley and Hood, matching wits on the scene, he simply indulged them. He detained the entourage of assistants and students and sat back, waiting for the two detectives to do his men's work for them. Solving the case was solving the case—if they still drew full salaries, why not let the detectives do the heavy lifting? Of course, you couldn't put it that way; it was against regulations. The chief officially announced that they would bring the truth to light for the victim, and would take into account the opinions provided by the two detectives during the investigation. It was worth noting that with the progress of the times, even in the Kingdom of Windsor, detectives had no legal standing to enter a murder scene. Private detectives operated primarily in civil and commercial matters. Once criminal offenses were involved, detectives were generally shut out. Take Wayne's previous commissioned investigation of Dr. Lainer and his wife—all that stalking and photographing. It was only because he hadn't been caught on the spot; otherwise, he would have suffered for it. This was Windsor, after all, and the prisons lacked no shortage of sodomites. Many men who couldn't wrap their minds around it beforehand found everything opening right up once inside. To get back to the matter at hand: Wayne shoved his way through the dense layers of spectators, claiming a prime ringside seat, and happily waited for the two detectives to come to blows. He spotted the police chief and his two colleagues engaged in their battle of wits. The three stood huddled together, having just stepped out from the crime scene, apparently discussing something. With the helpful pointing of enthusiastic bystanders, Wayne learned which detective was which. Wesley was fair-faced and clean-shaven, a classic Windsor pretty boy. Hood was somewhat stocky, sporting a parted black mustache. The atmosphere between them was harmonious. Wayne felt thoroughly disappointed. The two detectives weren't nearly as dramatic or hot-blooded as he had imagined; they were even exchanging opinions and pooling the clues they had gathered. "Tsk, boring. Fiction really is a pack of lies," Wayne muttered with a curl of his lip, thinking the excitement far too tame. Just like Wayne, the townsfolk voiced their dissatisfaction one after another, heckling from the sidelines: "Hood, you're representing Enrold Town! Show that Londan gentleman what you've got—let him see what a country detective can do!" "Hood, I bet my whole drinking budget for tonight on the Londan bloke! Don't you dare win!" "Don't worry, Hood can't solve it. His clumsy detective skills can't hold a candle to the gentleman from Londan, or he'd have gone to Londan to make his fortune long ago!" "Hey, I don't like the sound of that. What's so special about a Londan gentleman? A Londan gentleman is still just a man! I'm backing Hood—he's the people's choice!" Having nothing better to do, Wayne took the initiative to fan the flames, getting into a heated debate with a gentleman in a top hat beside him who was equally idle. "Wesley is the people's choice in Londan, too. I've heard his name. He's been in the papers many times, and the Londan Police Department frequently commissions him to assist with cases!" The gentleman in the top hat, holding a walking cane with a newspaper tucked under his arm, looked at Wayne with contempt. "Look, speaking as an objective bystander, I'm from Londan myself, and I'm a detective too. I've never heard of any Wesley, and he's not in the papers either." "You don't even know Wesley and you dare pretend to be a Londan detective? If you're a detective, I'll eat this newspaper!" The gentleman in the top hat seemed to be a die-hard fan of Wesley's, growing agitated after barely two sentences. Faced with this attempt to cheat a free meal, Wayne hadn't even reacted when the surrounding crowd burst into laughter. The word spread like wildfire, and soon the entire street was bathed in a jovial atmosphere. "Who's dueling? Where?" "I heard some pretty boy slept with the hat shop owner's wife..." "Bullshit!" "You bastard, who pinched my ass? Couldn't you be a little gentler?" "Damn it, my wallet's gone!" "Fuck your second uncle!" The disorderly crowd severely disrupted the peace, quickly drawing the police chief's annoyance. He shouted loudly, telling the spectators to pipe down. Unable to stomach Wayne's bragging, the top-hatted gentleman yelled, "Chief! This gentleman is a detective, too! Why not ask him for his opinion?" *Another detective?!* times several dozen. The crowd all turned to look at Wayne next to the top-hatted gentleman. Wayne's two fellow detectives also glanced his way. The chief paused slightly, then had an officer bring Wayne over to him. "Sir, how should I address you?" "Wayne." "Where are you from, Mr. Wayne? I haven't seen you in Enrold Town before." The chief was average in ability, but by no means a useless fool; at the very least, he had a sharp memory and knew every face in town. An unfamiliar face meant an outsider. "Londan. I'm here in Enrold Town on vacation, temporarily staying over there." Wayne raised a hand and pointed toward the mansion. The chief followed the direction of Wayne's finger. A glint flickered in his eyes, and his tone immediately turned deferential. "So you are Mr. Wayne. Excuse my rudeness. I hear you are a detective as well?" "Part-time. I opened a detective agency just for fun." Wayne waved a hand dismissively. With two professional colleagues on the scene along with a squad of officers, he had no desire to get involved. He had taken his stroll, had his fun, and relieved his stress—it was time to head back to meditate. Just then, the professor's body, covered in a white sheet, was carried out. The case was somewhat tricky; after examining the crime scene, the forensics team was currently at a loss, and they prepared to take several suspects back to the town police station for questioning. The two detectives would accompany them. That was how solving cases worked. Whether for the police or detectives assisting them, almost all cases were cracked in an office; instances of catching the killer directly at the crime scene through deduction alone were exceptionally rare. Wayne glanced at the corpse, his eyes sweeping across the suspects before settling on a middle-aged man. The man reeked heavily. From head to toe, he was thoroughly steeped in the professor's scent... The scent of the professor's corpse! While the other suspects carried the same scent, it was nowhere near as concentrated as on this man, indicating that he had spent an extended period alone with the professor's body. Analyzing what he had just heard, Wayne deduced that the scent on the other suspects came from barging into the locked room together, whereas this man... Got it! *When they broke down the door, you were hiding behind it, weren't you, buddy?* *No wonder your nose is so red—did the door smack you in the face?* *You sure have nerves of steel, standing guard beside the professor's corpse all night. Didn't your legs go numb? Weren't you afraid the professor would come chat with you in the dead of night?* Having identified the killer, Wayne worked backward from the conclusion to deduce the method. Leaning in, he murmured a few words into the police chief's ear, then bid the chief farewell and took his carriage back to the mansion. Had it been anyone else identifying the killer by appearance alone without even stepping into the crime scene, the chief would certainly have sneered and dismissed every word. Wayne, however, was different. His temporary residence was far from ordinary. Every year, Mr. Landau made substantial donations to the Enrold Town police station under the noble title of social charity, allowing the small-town officers to enjoy the same benefits and perks as Londan police. Would a friend of their benefactor talk nonsense? Not a chance! Back at the station, the chief immediately conducted the interrogation himself. His very first sentence made the middle-aged man's face turn pale. "Besides the professor's corpse, someone else was hiding in that room. After poisoning the professor and planting the suicide note, he hid behind the door waiting for the others to break in, thereby staging a locked-room suicide. Isn't that right?" "You can stay silent, but someone noticed you weren't wearing gloves. We might just find your fingerprints on the wall behind the door." The middle-aged man confessed. He had indeed committed the murder. The swift resolution of the case astonished both detectives, especially Hood, the local detective, whose expression looked as if he had seen a ghost. What the hell? Was this still the useless chief he knew? Had the man been replaced by an imposter?! The chief basked in his pride for a moment, then explained to the two detectives, "The one who solved it was that Mr. Wayne. He identified the suspect with a single glance and deduced the entire course of events." "..." times two. *With just a single glance? How is that possible?!* times two. "Wesley, you're a Londan detective too. Surely you've heard of his renown?" Wesley: "..." He had not. This was the first time he had ever heard this colleague's name. The two detectives exchanged a glance, both growing curious about Wayne. After leaving the police station, Hood said, "Wesley, should we extend an invitation to him?" "We can give it a try." Wesley nodded. He had been tracking the Church of the Earth's Core for a long time. Just when he had finally uncovered a lead, the professor, who was an insider, had been poisoned.