Episode 46

The Essence of Nature, ever-living and ever-acting, shall encircle you as the Metaverse’s Civil Engineering.
–Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, <Faust>¹

“Today alone, I’ve saved two lives.”

Watson was so astonished she couldn’t close her mouth.

“Are you saying the culprit was here just a moment ago?!”

He had just attempted to assassinate the Postmaster General in front of Scotland Yard, and upon failing, he immediately targeted Ulrich Zuckerberg. Indeed, a bold murderer.
Watson couldn’t fathom the state of mind of the Phantom Fist, the perpetrator of this incident.

However, it was unexpected that even though Holmes managed to protect Ulrich’s life, he let the culprit slip right in front of him.

“……”

Instead of answering Watson’s inquiry about the culprit, Holmes took his pipe out and lit it.
His eyes were fixed on the void beyond the closed window.

Watson knew that when her companion smoked, it was a sign he was exerting a high level of concentration.
This was why Watson refrained from asking Holmes further questions, despite not getting the desired answer.

“This confirms how he committed the murders.”

Yet, Holmes was saying something strange.

Hadn’t the culprit just left?
Claiming to have confirmed the method used after witnessing the martial skill firsthand seemed odd.
Surely, the stress had affected his mind.

“…Alright. I’ve decided.”
“What?”

While Watson was thinking this, Holmes suddenly looked up.

“I’ll leave the rest to you.”
“What on earth are you leaving to me?!”

Holmes, instead of answering, grabbed Ulrich by the sleeve and hurriedly tried to leave the office.

“Holmes!!”

It was only after Watson shouted, unable to comprehend the situation, that Holmes stopped in his tracks.

“Oh, right. Hold on to this.”

For a brief moment, Watson’s expression brightened, but as soon as she checked the item Holmes placed in her hand, her face became filled with confusion.

“If ever you find yourself faced with a matter beyond your power to resolve, open this.”

Holmes placed a small leather pouch in Watson’s palm. A rather dirty one at that.

“I’ll take Mr. Zuckerberg with me. This case is finally nearing its end. We’ll meet again in the morning.”

That was the last thing he said.

Holmes took Ulrich and hastily left the office on the third floor.

“……”

Watson, left in the empty office with the security guard, was at a loss for words.

There were too many incomprehensible things.

Why was Ulrich Zuckerberg, who had nothing to do with the lawsuit between the Post Office and the telephone company, attacked?
What exactly is Holmes planning?
And, what is the content of the pouch Holmes left behind―

“Hmm.”

Holmes never said not to open this pouch.
If he had, Watson would have surely opened it to check its contents.

As Watson resisted the urge to check what was inside the pouch, her eyes turned back to the chaotic office floor.
There, for some reason, lay a piece of paper with a familiar diagram drawn on it.

“This…”

She had seen something similar in Afghanistan.
The engineering officer had unfolded a much larger piece of paper and given various instructions to the soldiers.

<木氣引雷陣>²

At that moment, the diagram was much simpler than what she had seen before, and although she couldn’t interpret the Midfield characters written beside it, the identity of the drawing was undoubtedly a blueprint.

It was a mysterious realm powered by internal energy and natural energy, cleverly twisting the martial laws within its range.

“…Civil Engineering?”

It was a secret technique of the Zuckerberg family.

The next day at 2:10 a.m.
Taking advantage of the cover of night, fifteen Black Maria carriages simultaneously departed from Scotland Yard, heading towards the residences of the involved parties.
It was a good three hours earlier than the scheduled time.

“Mr. Watson, are you home!”

The same day at 2:30 a.m.

Startled by the voice of a police officer coming from outside the window, Watson rubbed her bleary eyes and got out of bed.

“No, I was sure they said they’d come at 5:30…”

It was no wonder Holmes often complained about the officers at Scotland Yard.

Watson grumbled about the inspectors’ remarkably sloppy work as she hastily changed clothes.
After wrapping bandages around her upper body and completing the face-changing technique, she left the boarding house and boarded the carriage.

By the time she arrived at Scotland Yard, all the parties involved were already gathered in one place.
Sir Fawcett, the Postmaster General, a legal scholar from the Ministry of Communication, telephone company officials, and even the lawyers and judges associated with the case—fifteen people in total.

“It seems everyone has arrived.”

With more energy than usual, Lestrade and the inspectors gathered on the first floor of the police headquarters.
Everyone had shared the ride here with the involved parties, divided among the fifteen carriages.

“Seriously, this is too much…”
“This isn’t the agreed upon time.”

The judge and a significant number of people, even bringing their servants, appeared as though their expressions were about to sour at any moment.
It seemed they were not pleased at all with the police arriving to pick them up a good three hours earlier than expected.

However, to Watson, who was not involved in the lawsuit, their complaints sounded severely lacking in a sense of crisis.

Watson was able to fall asleep early to wake up and be active at dawn because she had concluded that she was not the target of the Phantom Fist.
Yet, despite being warned that their heads might be taken off by a murderer with the mysterious ability to pass through walls, they had come here after sleeping soundly at home.

Are they overconfident in their own abilities, or do they simply not heed warnings?
Perhaps it’s both.

If it hadn’t been the Postmaster General who issued the warning, they might have continued to sleep sprawled in their beds regardless of whether the police came to fetch them.

“Any tails?”
“I extended my senses to the fullest and kept a lookout, but I didn’t see anyone suspicious.”
“Same here… But the opponent is the Phantom Fist. We never know when or where he might appear.”
“We’re talking about someone who can appear and disappear from the East Coast to the West Coast like an apparition, so we can’t afford to be careless.”

Meanwhile, Lestrade was asking his fellow inspectors if they noticed anything suspicious during the move.
Although all parties involved had safely arrived at Scotland Yard, there was still concern that the Phantom Fist might have followed and be lurking nearby.

In fact, the Phantom Fist had previously attempted an assassination with his fist blast outside the detection range of Sir Fawcett’s Kung-Fu Echolocation just yesterday, so it was a valid concern.

“Was it Inspector Lestrade? I have just one question.”
“Yes, Sir Fawcett.”

When the Postmaster General spoke, Lestrade responded with a voice tinged with caution.

“The one behind this incident is a cunning fellow. Do you really think he doesn’t know where we’re heading?”

Sir Fawcett seemed to share the same doubt.

“Don’t worry. The culprit will never be able to follow us.”

Contrary to Watson’s expectations, Lestrade answered confidently.

“It’s good to have confidence, but could you tell us what you’re thinking first?”
“I’ll explain later. Please, follow me.”

Watson, puzzled, felt a strange sense of trust in Lestrade’s demeanor, which contrasted with how he was usually overshadowed by Holmes, and followed him.

Lestrade and the other inspectors led the group to a large door in a secluded corner on the first floor of Scotland Yard.
The metal entrance door, secured with seven locks, was painted the same color as the green door that symbolized the Metropolitan Police.

“Keys 1 to 7 are all here.”
“Opening the passage.”
“Three, two, one, now.”

-Click!

The inspectors inserted the keys they each carried and unlocked the door. As it opened, stairs leading underground appeared.

“It’s the first time I’ve heard of an underground space at Scotland Yard.”
“It’s a passage we’ve used since the old days to discreetly evacuate important witnesses or those in need of protection.”

Watson couldn’t hide her amazement at the unexpected secret of the police headquarters.

“Regulations don’t allow us to show you the interior, so please wear these.”

The inspectors began to put blindfolds on the people’s eyes.

“Sir Fawcett, we’ll provide you with earplugs.”

Watson, upon seeing the Postmaster General put on earmuffs, silently donned a blindfold.
She decided it was better to comply quietly than to let her curiosity lead to trouble later.

“Alright, then. One by one, slowly…”

Soon, fourteen blindfolded individuals and one actual blind person began descending the stairs, holding on to the rope provided by the police.

‘If I had mastered Kung-Fu Echolocation like Holmes, I wouldn’t have to worry about tripping.’

Though she had brought her cane, descending the slippery stairs was still a struggle.
There were sounds of water droplets falling, and the damp air had a musty smell mixed in.
Through the gap in the blindfold, she could see a faint illumination of light, suggesting that the officer at the forefront was holding a lantern.

The officers who had reached the bottom first led the group through the underground passage.
Around the time Watson began to miss the surface, a heavy noise and vibration came from above.
Watson was quite surprised to realize that Scotland Yard’s underground passage was below the subway lines, yet continued walking.

In fact, there was something in this place that stimulated her keen senses more than the humidity or the vibrations from the subway.

-身是菩提樹…
-I am the tree of my Bodhi…
.
.
.

Someone was humming a strange song from afar.
Though the melody was flat, the deep, resonant voice carried a force that shook the listener’s core.

“That is…”
“Shh. Do not speak carelessly. They might misunderstand and think someone is responding to the song.”

Before Watson could say anything, Lestrade interjected nervously.
The bizarre warning made no sense to Watson, but its intensity was such that she couldn’t utter a word.

‘I should ask Holmes about it later.’

Given the circumstances, the only option was to ask the smartest man she knew.
Determined to focus on not falling, Watson continued walking without stopping.
Regretting that she hadn’t ignored Holmes’s suggestion to split up and stick together instead.

“We’ve arrived.”

After what seemed like a long walk, the group, moving through the damp passageway, finally began to ascend some stairs.

“Aah.”

With the sound of a heavy stone slab moving, the cold dawn air hit Watson’s face.

What awaited the group, now free from their blindfolds and earplugs upon reaching the surface, was a small garden.

“Where is this?”
“Regent Square Garden. A place so close that you could almost touch St. Pancras Station with your nose if you tripped.”

Watson finally understood how Scotland Yard planned to safely evacuate the targets of the Phantom Fist to another city.
Inspectors, waiting nearby, loaded four people into each carriage and headed towards the train station.
And waiting for them in front of the station was.

“Arrived just in time.”

The only consulting detective in London, with a pipe in his mouth.

Sherlock Holmes.