Direct Delivery From Naples (2)

A strong Kung-Fuist welcomes many assassins.
-British Proverb-

“Venucci, that damn Naples bastard, prancing around like a dog, I knew it would end like that. If it wasn’t for the superiore masters having died so miserably on the battlefield, he would’ve just been polishing shoes until they shone. It’s all because he can’t even grasp his place and goes prancing around aiming for an officer seat, that he’s gotten himself in such a mess.”

After filling himself with capellini and ravioli, Beppo wiped his mouth with a napkin and immediately poured out clumsy English like rapid-fire Fingertips.

There were many parts that did not match grammar, so Watson and Mrs. Hudson could not properly understand him, but fortunately I had abundant experience speaking with foreigners, so it wasn’t difficult to grasp Beppo’s meaning.

With every adjective and adverb under the sun, even bringing in curses unfit for the mouth, the way he insulted Venucci didn’t look like a skilled mason at all.

It was understandable that he was angry after being kidnapped and beaten by someone he bore no grudge against, but from my point of view, knowing what he did to Pietro Venucci in another world, it was ridiculous beyond measure.

“Anyway, Italy these days has no talent, no talent! What does it matter if Great Hero Garibaldi was great! Other than those gloomy Zion Clan bastards, the line of Kung-Fu talent overflowing in disciples to inherit the faction’s secret manuals has been cut off, I’m telling you! Italy’s become a cursed land where no new master can appear!”

After spewing a round of abuse at Venucci, Beppo went on to lament that there were no usable Super Juniors in Italy’s Murim.

Watching him lightly clench his fist into a ravioli shape, show me the back of his hand, and shake it back and forth as he poured out a heated speech, it seemed he had been quite suffocated, keeping his mouth shut while confined in the warehouse the Camorra managed.

However, everything he rattled off was far from what I had expected, so I had to wait until Beppo finished one round of talking before throwing my question.

“……You look as if you aren’t angry at the Camorra who kidnapped you, but furious that the Camorristi were swept away without even being able to use their strength. Why?”

When I asked, Beppo answered with a face that said I was absurd.

“Well, I’m a member of the Camorra, so why would I dare be angry at the elders of the home base? Anyone can see Pietro Venucci, that bastard, didn’t know his place and went running wild, right? I still don’t know why he had to go and touch me, though.”
“What……did you say?”

It was an answer I never expected.

“Ah, I’m grateful you lot saved me. If you’d come strolling to the warehouse tomorrow, my fingers would’ve turned into eight. If you were a few days later, I’d have been practicing carving with my toes. That would be fun in its own way, I suppose.”

Beppo continued at a fast pace without even checking my expression.

“But even if you weren’t doing Mr. Gelder’s bidding, the home base elders would’ve moved. Venucci, that bastard, didn’t know it, but I’m a promising artisan who receives the Hall Manager milord’s favor. Even if I’m rubbish at fighting, the moment he touched me, Venucci was already as good as dead. Well, he got dragged off to Scotland Yard, it seems, but it doesn’t matter. The home base masters will sneak in where not even mice or birds notice and finish him.”

Sensing the dangerous atmosphere, I immediately signaled to Mrs. Hudson with my eyes.

Seeing my signal, she slipped out soundlessly through the shop’s back door.

“Good grief. I was thinking of settling down for a few years to find new inspiration, and then some pup with no big status goes and starts something he can’t handle. ”
“…….”

Watson’s expression was growing darker and darker.

She seemed shocked by the fact that the hostage we had just saved, though unable to properly use Kung-Fu, was nonetheless a member of the underworld.

If everything Beppo just said was true, then in this life as well he would be killing Venucci.

Even if he did not stab him to death with his own hand, he would use the borrowed-knife killing stratagem, by borrowing the home base Camorra’s power.

“Let me ask just one thing. From what you just said, Beppo, it sounds as if you deliberately did not reveal your ties to the home base to Venucci. Did you endure the underworld men’s violence with nothing but the wish for Venucci to die?”
“I told you. Of course. But there wasn’t a single bastard among them who believed me.”
“Huh……”

In this world, I thought it might be possible to rehabilitate a culprit, or guide him.

Even if that was impossible, I thought it would at least be possible to prevent them from causing the case I had solved, from the start.

Perhaps such thoughts of mine were nothing but dreadful arrogance.

“If…….”

Fate is like the wheel-treasure of the Wheel-Turning King.

Before the enormous and sacred wheel of the gods, human will is small and paltry, like a mantis blocking a carriage.

No matter how much I knew the future, the individual called me was no different from a speck of dust left behind, crushed where the wheel rolled.

Was it truly impossible to cut the ill-fated tie between Beppo and Venucci.

No. Surely there was something I could still do.

“What if the Naples Camorra still doesn’t know that you were kidnapped by branch members?”

When I asked, Beppo answered with a grin.

“No chance. Venucci was already a dead man the moment he kidnapped me. The eyes of the Red Circle exist everywhere.”
“…….”

A single line that completely crushed my hope.

“……I see.”

Then I, too, as London’s only consulting detective, had no choice but to do what I ought.

After taking Beppo to Gelder Workshop, we immediately commissioned the making of a pipe using the Unicorn Salamander’s horn.

Gelder, the shop owner, and Beppo readily promised that without taking payment, they would complete the difficult-to-process Fantastic Beast material into a pipe that was supremely artistic and perfect in function as well.

Yet even so, my steps as I left the shop were heavy.

Beppo said.

Though he currently lived by losing huge sums gambling and earning pennies in London, he said that by perfectly crafting a statue modeled after the Hall Manager’s mistress, he had earned that man’s protection.

The protection the Hall Manager promised was this: if anyone laid hands on Beppo and sullied his honor, whoever it was, they would be killed in the name of the Camorra.

And the one who handles this is not the Camorra’s strongest killer, called the Red Baton.

What carries out the promised Vendetta is a gathering of past Red Batons, retired from active duty.

This group, not one but several underworld magnates whom even the Hall Manager could not treat lightly, was said to move in secrecy, following nothing but their oath.

‘The Red Circle…….’

Those about whom nothing is known, except that they use a red circle as their mark.

Surely they were a gathering of powerhouses incomparable to the likes of Pietro Venucci.

I looked down at the Morning Star confiscated from Venucci.

It couldn’t be compared to the Heavenly Demon Cane, but it was certainly a formidable weapon as well.

The spikes on the long rod-shaped mace had tips made of ten-thousand year-old Cold Iron, able to tear even enhanced energy.

More astonishing was the inner space, made by imitating human blood vessels.

The absurd idea of injecting elixir into it and granting the weapon mysterious functions was something only geniuses of Italy’s Renaissance could have managed.

Considering Beppo had said his master made it, I could understand well enough how he had built his skill.

‘A word of advice: it would be best if the home base members do not find out you have that. It is quite an expensive thing. I have no intention of stopping a lifesaver who wants to take it. Even if someone asks, I will simply keep my mouth shut.’

Recalling Beppo’s words only made my feelings heavier.

To speak plainly, I intended to prevent Pietro Venucci from being killed by Italian assassins.

That I was given a new life must be heaven granting me another chance to stop Moriarty.

But in the course of achieving that goal, it must not be allowed for me to leave tragedies I can prevent unattended.

To let assassins kill one who should be judged by the law, to let countless Scotland Yard police officers be sacrificed in the process, would be cowardice, failing one’s duty as one who walks the path of chivalry.

As one who lives claiming to be a guardian of the law, I could not allow Camorra assassins to kill people at will in London.

“I’m sorry, Watson. For dragging you into this.”
“What of it? As your assistant, how could I leave you to face assassins alone.”

Even though we would soon have to face the Naples Camorra’s greatest force, there was not a trace of fear on Watson’s face.

Was she trusting me?

Or was she forcing herself to hide her feelings?

It pained me to have to hide the story of John’s manuscript, fearing it might stir waves in her calm heart.

Watson trusted and cared for me to this extent, and yet I could not tell her the truth.

How long must I live like this?

Even to shorten by even a little the time I spend deceiving her, I had to find John as quickly as possible.

The greatest reason I could not let Venucci die by underworld hands was that he, and the one who translated the manuscript, held clues that could provide a path leading to John.

“If Beppo is right, the Camorra’s assassins will come crashing in within a few days. To face them, we must work closely with Scotland Yard, and you and I must devote ourselves to training as well. The ones we must face are the strongest among Italian assassins, so do not let down your guard.”

Watson nodded heavily.

The dark streets of the East End.
The rattling carriage was racing toward Baker Street.

Arriving at Baker Street, I immediately summoned the Baker St. Irregulars and had them deliver a note to Scotland Yard.

Now, tomorrow morning, I would meet the Scotland Yard Chief and speak in detail about the Camorra’s assassins.

Next, Watson and I decided to dismantle our new spoils.

My goal was to remove the precious elixir inside the Morning Star without the slightest damage.

“Elixir inside a weapon, I have never seen that. It’s not even for drinking, so why do such a thing?”
“You didn’t see it, but the movement of this Morning Star was truly miraculous beyond measure. What made it possible was not Venucci’s martial prowess, but the weapon’s function itself. It is only possible if a special elixir is inside, and I already have an idea of what it is.”

Watson’s gaze, looking down at the heavy blunt weapon on the table, was full of curiosity.

“A mace has many nicknames. It is common to call it a Morning Star, because it resembles a morning star, but there are also nicknames drawn from its shape.”
“Hoh…….”
“Have you ever heard of a holy-water sprinkler?”
“The thing used in Catholic rites? The one where a rod is attached to an iron ball with a sponge inside, to sprinkle holy water?”
“Precisely. The elixir inside this Morning Star also bears the name Holy Water.”
“Holy water? Don’t tell me—”

Before Watson could continue, I used Poltergeist, set the Morning Star upright, and fixed it in midair.

And then—

-Seogeok!

I drew the Heavenly Demon Cane and cut away the softer portion of the mace at a speed too fast to see.

-Paaat!

A blue-green liquid revealed itself.

Startled by the intense Yin Qi pouring out, Watson stepped back.

“On Capri, an island south of Naples, there is a place called the Blue Grotto. There is a mysterious elixir that can be obtained only there.”

A non-Newtonian fluid elixir that changes between solid and liquid in response to Essence.

“It’s Mita Holy Water.”

It was the moment the mystery of southern Italy entered my hands.