Jack Senior had two things to do today.

First, he had to pay the water bill.

Second, he had to kill someone.

Due to his habit of procrastination, he always liked to put off difficult things until the end.

Therefore, he was going to kill that person first.

…

…

6 a.m.

The year 288 of the Holy Calendar Year - London.

The morning was actually not much different from dusk. The visibility was not very good. The Berlin-made airship above his head floated lazily like a giant whale, blocking the sunlight which was little to begin with. The entire city seemed to be cloaked in the dust that fell from the sky.

However, miraculously, when he raised his head, he could still see the smoke coming out of the chimneys in the distance.

These chimneys were like flags, displaying the empire's supreme power and wealth. After the gates of hell were opened, these chimneys spat out even more diligently.

In the words of the newspaper… "If the factory doesn't work harder, what about the financial outlay? Who will feed the army? Who will build the weapons? Who's going to deal with the demons running through the gates?"

It sounded dignified, but in fact, even Jack Senior, who had not read much, knew that those chimneys spat out the blood and sweat of the poor.

As for the money, it all went into the pockets of the capitalists.

Oh, at this time, the term "capitalists" had not been popularized yet, so Jack Senior was used to calling them by other terms…

For example: bastards without assholes.

…

Downtown, Shannon Street, a side street about two kilometers from the Thames.

It took Jack Senior three hours to get here, and now the morning fog had mostly dissipated. Looking around, he could see a field of not-so-fresh cow dung, garbage cans by the road that had not been cleared for months. Steam was rolling out of the sewers. Two rats ran past a wild cat, which only yawned lazily.

At the end of the street was a grocery store. Even though the fog had dissipated, the store was still hidden in the shadows of the surrounding walls.

All of this indicated that this was a good place to kill…

Jack Senior was very happy.

He stepped over the cow dung on the ground and arrived at the door of the grocery store. He pushed the door open and walked right in.

"Morning!" he greeted the pot-bellied owner behind the counter.

The owner, who was holding a newspaper, peered over the top of the newspaper. He did not strike up a conversation; he looked fierce and unfriendly.

Jack Senior looked at the obviously liver-cirrhotic bloodshot eyes and the especially protruding beer belly and verified that this guy was the person he was going to kill today.

"Excuse me, do you have a fruit knife here?" he asked.

"Over there…" The owner pointed in a direction with his eyes.

"Thank you." After thanking him, Jack walked over, picked one that was rather handy, and walked back to the counter.

"Seven pence," the owner continued in that unfriendly tone.

Jack figured that with such an unlikeable temper, it made sense for someone to want to buy his life.

Of course, he did not care who this guy had offended. He only wanted to finish this job as soon as possible and go pay his water bill.

"Excuse me, is there a police station nearby?" He took out a shilling and placed it on the table.

"No."

"Then… are there usually many customers here?"

"There's no one on the street. How could there be customers?!" The owner muttered angrily and turned around to look for change.

Jack nodded somewhat relieved, and then picked up the knife.

It went into the other party's neck very smoothly.

…

Sometimes, Jack Senior always wondered why humans were so fragile. They could be killed with a single knife, yet they could rule the entire world.

And those demons were clearly very powerful, but the Gates of Hell had been open for two hundred years, and they were still blocked by humans on the Antarctic Continent. They could not even cross the Drake Passage.

Could it really be because of those steam tanks that rely on boiling water to move?

Or… was it because of those covenant people who had a symbiotic relationship with the demons?

Whatever. He was just a killer with no reputation. He usually took orders and lived a life of idleness. He might not be able to do anything one day and starve to death in his own house. He was not in the mood to care about matters on the battlefield.

It was not easy for anyone these days.

Fortunately, today's job was quite easy. The knife was very sharp and easily pierced the other party's neck. Then, it tore through the muscles of the neck and went straight to the throat. With a light flick, it cut open the entire airway…

Seeing the owner staring at him with horrified eyes, clutching his neck as he fell, writhing on the ground like a fat maggot, Jack sighed helplessly. He turned around and flipped the door sign to the [CLOSE] side, pulled the curtain closed, and locked the door from inside.

He was so fat. How much effort would it take to carry him out later? Fortunately, there were not many people on this street now. In ten minutes, he should be able to carry him to the sewer.

Just as he was thinking…

Suddenly, Jack had a bad feeling because he saw that when the person on the ground was clutching his throat, his fingers had sunk into the wound because he had used too much strength. His thick knuckles were poking and poking in the bright red gap.

"Uh… Could it be…"

Before he could finish his sentence, his premonition came true.

The owner successfully punctured his artery.

Fat people generally had high blood pressure, and those with high blood pressure had fragile blood vessels…

In an instant, blood spurted out of the wound like a small fountain, reaching the ceiling. Then, it was smashed into large splatters of blood that splashed on the ground.

As everyone knew, killing someone was actually a very simple matter. However, if the corpse spurted blood everywhere, it would be extremely annoying to clean it up… This was the same reason why cooking was easy but washing the dishes was very annoying.

Therefore, Jack Senior was dispirited at this moment.

He leaned against the door and rubbed his head in pain. The thought of retiring quickly came up in his mind again.

"How am I going to do this?!"

…

Just when he was in agony…

Ring, ring, ring…

A series of phone rings suddenly sounded.

Jack Senior was stunned. He followed the sound and finally found the phone under a pile of newspapers on the counter.

It was a standard "Scotland Youth Bell" phone, which was still popular in this day and age, but it was not cheap either.

He looked at the phone in front of him that kept making noise and hesitated whether he should answer it or not.

After weighing the pros and cons in his mind, he decided to pick up the call first. Even if he did not speak, it was good to hear who the other party was.

So… he put the receiver to his ear…

A very clear man's voice came through the phone.

"Hello, is this Mr. Jack? I'm sorry to disturb you, but I want to confirm if you… are done with the killing?"

"???"

Jack felt his mind go blank for a moment, and then a ridiculous and very sinister feeling crept into his head.

'Snap!'

He snapped the receiver back on.

To be honest, he was a little confused…

What was going on? Did the person on the phone say 'Mr Jack'?

Was he talking to me? But how did he know I was here?

Also, what did he mean by 'done with the killing'?

Just as he was feeling puzzled, he suddenly heard a knock on the door.

Jack Senior immediately turned around. He had been a killer for more than 30 years. At this moment, he actually held his breath abnormally.

'Who could be outside?'

He thought about it and was subconsciously glad that he had locked the door just now…

"He should be a passing customer. As long as I don't make a sound, the other party should be sensible enough to get lost."

However… before he could finish his thoughts…

Crack! Crack!

The lock unexpectedly made a few soft sounds!

Immediately after that,… the doorknob slowly turned…

Then, the door was simply pushed open.

…

Outside the door stood a man in a trench coat. He was very tall, but also very thin. He was about 30 years old and had a typical British face. However, his nose was a little high, making his facial features look overly three-dimensional.

The gray sunlight shone in from the periphery of his body, covering the bloody room with a sinister golden color.

The person glanced at the blood fountain in front of him that had yet to stop. He did not show any panic. Instead, he heaved a sigh of relief as if he had realized something.

"Phew—I said that. I waited outside for a full five minutes and didn't see you come out. I thought you had failed, but it turns out that the artery had burst. It doesn't matter. It's fine as long as you're done with the killing. This way… you can be considered as being caught red-handed."

As the person spoke, he cast his gaze at Jack Senior. Seeing the latter's dumbfounded expression, he casually took off his old top hat and placed it in front of his chest. He bowed slightly lazily.

"Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Sherlock Holmes, a detective."