At the thought of personally forging a brand-new urban legend and becoming the bogeyman of horror stories that made weeping children fall silent, Wayne could hardly contain himself, itching to stage a grand skeleton parade.
At a moment like this, if anyone had offered even a single word of caution, Wayne would have reeled it in.
Unfortunately, there was no one to advise him. His butler was away.
Wayne was flanked only by a sycophantic hound and a brown-nosing horse. With the two of them egging him on, they were only too eager to aid and abet his worst impulses. The second they heard Wayne wanted to stir up trouble, they perked up, tails wagging and heads tossing, completely cured of their drowsiness.
Abin suggested George Street. No. 10 George Street was the famous Prime Minister's Office, situated right in the heart of Londan. Staging a parade there would certainly cause a sensation and make front-page headlines tomorrow morning.
Yulia felt Abin made a fine point.
Upon hearing this, Wayne's enthusiasm instantly deflated. He only wanted an urban legend—that hazy, half-true, half-mythical sensation. He would have to be insane to hijack tomorrow's headlines.
Ignorance was bliss. The magical world was far too dangerous; ordinary people should not and could not know about it. Otherwise, a crushing sense of panic would send everyone fleeing in droves, plunging the entire city into collapse.
Wayne mulled it over and decided to take the water route, leaving the skeleton soldiers behind.
Even though the good elderly folks didn't have to report to work tomorrow morning, waking them in the dead of night was impolite enough. There was no need to keep rattling their old bones just for a fleeting whim.
"All right, folks, no need to keep standing around. Burning the midnight oil ruins your health. Go back to sleep, and we'll keep the fun going tomorrow night."
Wayne gave a grand wave of his hand. Abin took the lead, dense mist enveloped the warhorse, and Death rode through the fog, arriving at the banks of the River Thame.
The River Thame was the mother river of the Kingdom of Windsor, flowing through the capital of Londan and over a dozen cities along its course. Downstream, its waters broadened before emptying into the North Sea.
The river was wide and the waves placid, lined with countless large and small ports—a natural canal.
Aside from cargo vessels, sightseeing cruise ships on the River Thame were by no means scarce.
Though there were some differences, Wayne had a deep impression of this river. He vaguely recalled the tragedy that had unfolded along its waters: *Empress Dowager, the foreigners' warships have arrived right at our front door, and they say they want to help us build railways!*
*Laughs.jpg*
It was already late at night. The river's surface was blanketed in fog, through which vessel navigation lights faintly flickered.
Yulia followed Abin with a bound, four hooves treading upon the water, riding the waves.
*A literal water route!*
With his keen sense of smell, Abin sprinted across the water, searching for pleasure cruises that hadn't turned in for the night. Inner Londan was a renowned sleepless city. Heading upstream, there was no shortage of wealthy elites pulling all-nighters.
With a bit of luck, they might even stumble upon a cruise ship throwing a party.
Before long, Abin located a target.
It was an elongated sightseeing cruiser with upper and lower decks, brilliantly illuminated and designed in the utmost luxury.
On the open-air second deck, wealthy merchants and prominent celebrities were gathered, hosting a small concert on the River Thame.
Melodious music and moving vocals drifted outward, gently spreading across the river. The heavenly sound made no one wish to interrupt it; even the gloomy mist seemed to soften at this moment.
The slightly swaying vessel was hardly suited for a performance, but every musician present was a consummate master. As long as the money was good, they feared no challenge.
The featured female singer wore a white gown. Her looks, figure, and presence were beyond reproach, complemented by classic wavy blonde hair. Basking beneath her beauty, the other ladies present were somewhat eclipsed.
The rich and powerful were never short of beautiful companions, but the fact that this singer could outshine them all spoke volumes of her astonishing charm.
Yet compared to her beauty, her voice was undoubtedly even more captivating—smooth as silk, nimble as a mountain spring. Immersed in her wondrous singing, one felt as though even the stains upon their soul were being washed clean.
If Wayne had seen this singer, he would have found her exceedingly familiar. In the spellcasting reference materials left behind by his predecessor, he had married this woman, living in inseparable bliss and going at it three to five times a day.
Lily Hayworth, the most sought-after female singer of the day—and of his predecessor's trousers.
Just then, an exclamation rang out from the ship.
The guests turned displeased glances toward the offender, chiding the lack of decorum that had noisily broken the wonderful atmosphere.
Soon, however, more and more cries of astonishment echoed out.
On the starboard side of the deck, aristocrats and tycoons clustered closer together, staring in utter horror at the terrifying figure moving through the fog.
It was a skeleton knight clad in black armor. Beneath him, an undead warhorse breathed purple flames, escorted on one flank by a comparatively compact phantom hound. They glided across the water's surface as if exempt from gravity.
The warhorse's pace was not fast, taking unhurried, leisurely strides. The Death Knight's intense detachment and indifference radiated a commanding arrogance and absolute fearlessness. Even though his silhouette remained hazy, with portions of his form concealed by mist, his formidable presence could not be ignored.
*When you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes back into you!*
As the cruise ship and the Death Knight passed each other, the Death Knight slowly turned his head. The dancing white flames within his eye sockets thrust into everyone's hearts like steel blades, dragging across them with agonizing slowness yet unstoppable force.
The elites felt as though they had plunged into an ice cave. Cold sweat soaked their clothes. They wanted to flee, but their legs refused to move; they could not even manage to close their eyes or look away.
At this moment, chills ran down every spine, as if a scythe of death hung suspended over their heads.
The Death Knight withdrew his gaze. The mist concealed his full visage, and he vanished silently across the water.
Only after the Death Knight departed did the crowd let out breaths of relief. Some sobbed, some collapsed onto rubbery legs—with tears blurring their eyes and other fluids soaking their trousers—while others shouted in harsh fury, screaming for the bodyguards on the lower deck to protect them.
Confronting death stripped bare their pathetic ugliness.
Naturally, there were always exceptions.
At the center of the second deck, a handsome, distinguished middle-aged man twirled an ancient silver coin between his fingers, his eyes slightly narrowed as he looked in the direction the Death Knight had gone.
Black hair and black eyes, in his thirties. Taken individually, his facial features were not flawless, but together they exuded an irresistible masculine charisma.
Mature and sophisticated, with a hint of roguish slickness kept subtly in check.
Behind him stood an attractive woman with short blonde hair, waiting respectfully.
Her tailored tailcoat cinched a waist no broader than a handspan, while her white-gloved hands rested neatly against the seams of her trousers. Her posture was ramrod-straight.
With light makeup gracing her exquisite face, the beauty bowed. "Lord Auston, should I follow him to have a look?"
"Look at what? See how sharp his sword is?"
Auston Landau swirled the red wine in his glass and drained it in one gulp. "Don't stick your nose into matters that don't concern you. I have no desire to send people to fish your corpse out tomorrow. Stick to your duties. Have the musicians compose themselves, and keep the music and singing going."
Megan the butler glanced at the panicked musicians. A cold glint flashed in her eyes, instantly dispelling the scattered thoughts in their minds while clearing away the terrifying cloud lingering over the cruise ship, calming the gathered nobles and tycoons.
Those who needed to change their trousers did so; those who needed to touch up their makeup did so. Elegance had to be maintained at all times, and the concert had to go on.
The melodious singing rose once more.
Ten minutes later, the female singer took her bow. Instead of returning to the lower deck, she was invited over by Butler Megan to take a seat beside Auston.
"Mr. Landau, it is an absolute honor to receive your invitation," Lily Hayworth said sincerely.
"Miss Hayworth, there is a business proposition I would like to discuss with you." Auston smiled, taking in the beauty before him.
"Please, go ahead."
Lily offered a faint smile. She was well aware of this playboy's reputation. If she wasn't mistaken, the conversation was about to turn to the bedroom.
"I want you to seek out a man, and find every possible way to sleep with him."
"..."
*Wait, not you?*
"Think it over. Here is my card. Contact me once you've made up your mind."
Auston raised his wine glass and had his butler present the calling card. "With your remarkable beauty, you aren't truly safe in this city of Londan. Once this is done, I guarantee that no one will ever harass you again."
***
"Abin, Yulia, how was my performance just now?"
"Outstanding!"
"Extraordinary!"
Wayne nodded at his two henchmen's praise. It was sincere and heartfelt, but lacking in cultural sophistication—run-of-the-mill sycophancy.
The first day without the butler, missing him.
Having disseminated the new urban legend, Wayne decided to pack up and head back to base.
By taking a shortcut.
Londan at night was unsafe. If he ran into a few magical girls who disregarded the rules of fair play, and he found himself outmatched, wouldn't he end up surrounded and wiped out on the spot?
It was too dangerous out there. Better hurry back to the cemetery and lie down.
Abin continued to lead the way while Yulia advanced through the dark under cover of the mist, but this time, a minor unexpected development arose.
Before they even reached the shore, Wayne reined Yulia in.
"Hold on a second!"
Wayne tugged at the reins and looked down at the broad river. About ten meters from the bank, the Book of Greed issued a prompt: directly below, it had detected a vengeful spirit available for a contract.
Upon the page for the Spirit of Vengeance, bloody script drafted a contract, awaiting Wayne's signature to confirm.
Wayne did not sign it right away. To put it bluntly, his standards had risen; not just any stray dog or cat was qualified to become his Spirit of Vengeance.
Becoming his lackey was nowhere near that easy!
What a joke. People only had to ask around—did anyone know about the Death Knight's warhorse? It had practically begged and cried to let him ride it, and he had only reluctantly agreed for the sake of the greatsword.
Then again, a vengeful spirit that could be locked onto by the Book of Greed was certainly no ordinary specimen.
"Might be something worth looking into."
Wayne rubbed his skull. White light flickered in his eye sockets, and the river surface near the warhorse's hooves began to churn like boiling water.
Mud surged upward, and within moments, Wayne saw what he had dredged up from the riverbed.
A metal drum!
To be precise, a metal oil drum filled with concrete!
"Tsk. Humans really are terrifying."
Chapter 64