Silence…
What happened just now was actually very short. It only took half a minute from the moment Baldell exploded in the smoke to the moment he was suppressed by the gunfire in the rainy night.
It was not even as long as the time it took later for the hand saw to cut open the skull.
Therefore, the sound of the sharp blade rubbing against bones was especially ear-piercing. The sound of fingers crushing the brain sent chills down one's spine.
Catherine, who was on the bell tower, was very far away. She did not hear the ear-piercing and lingering churning sound, but it was precisely because she was far away and on a high ground that she could clearly see everything that had happened on the ground earlier.
At the same time, it made her the most shocked person in the crowd.
At that time, she had seen a particularly strange figure in the long street in the distance. It was as if he had foreseen the future. An ordinary firearm that had not been modified, and a few inferior bullets had actually suppressed a deacon of the judicial department?
Although it was at his weakest moment…
But at the same time, it was also at his strongest moment!
Why did that uneducated fellow not show the slightest bit of fear throughout the entire process! Instead, everything was so indifferent, silent, sparse, and ordinary, flowing like water in one go!
Was it ignorance?
Or was it because his mental state was already strong enough to ignore the counterattack of a second-stage covenant person on the verge of death?
Catherine did not know. She only stared blankly at the thin body below that seemed to be welcoming the curtain call under the spotlight, and could not help but recall the smiling but extremely detestable face she had first met outside the elevator.
Suddenly, her body stiffened. Then, she remembered that the other party was just a mortal, a commoner from downtown, and a private detective.
…
Sherlock did not know how much of a shock he had brought to the high and mighty judgment nun in the bell tower.
He only looked at the fragmented body on the ground that definitely could not stand up in any way. Then, he stretched himself out in great satisfaction.
He turned around and looked at the old priest behind him.
"Are you okay…?" he asked.
In fact, he had a good impression of this old man who did not talk much because when he was not dozing off, he always seemed to respond to him with a very friendly smile. There was even a hint of encouragement and admiration. This kind of smile was rare when a superior faced a commoner.
And in the rain, the old priest seemed to have regained his senses. He tried his best to suppress the shock in his heart, then nodded with a weak smile, indicating that he was fine…
Then, his thin lips moved slightly, as if he wanted to say something.
Sherlock did not hear it because in the next second, he was surrounded by a group of soldiers who had rushed over from the vicinity.
At this moment, the safety of the high priest was naturally more important than anything else.
The rain was still falling. After a few minutes, everyone finally recovered from the scene earlier. Some medical staff waiting outside the battlefield finally dared to step under the searchlight.
They began to quickly look for the wounded who might still be alive, and began to save and treat the wounds of the soldiers who were almost steamed by the armor in a cruel and efficient way. A few ropes hung down from the zeppelin airships. Dozens of people who were not equipped with steam armor but were wearing the uniforms of Vatican guards slid down and began to silently tidy up the battlefield and retrieve the corpse and equipment.
The post-battle cleanup began in such an organized fashion. Baldell's body was swept into a pile from the pool of blood, and he was loaded into a huge iron box along with his creature of the void, and fished up to the airship by a rope, and the wails around the medic gradually became the main theme. Catherine's vines and the huge spider had already quietly retreated to the void rift, and everything was gradually back under control.
During this process, almost all the survivors looked in Sherlock's direction.
There was a complicated look in their eyes. There was gratitude, shock, confusion, and even a hint of fear. They only dared to look sideways at him from afar. When their eyes met those of Mr. Detective, they quickly looked elsewhere.
Ten minutes later… The old priest was helped into a wheelchair after several medics had repeatedly ascertained that he was fine. He waved his hand to disperse the guards who tried to shelter him from the rain. He drove the wheelchair past the bloodstains on the ground and came to Sherlock's side.
He smiled, not hiding in any way the disappointment and gratitude of an old man in his smile.
"Previously, when I was at Scotland Yard, I asked around about you… At that time, I just thought that you were an outstanding young man, and that you might even be outstanding beyond my imagination. But I didn't expect you to be so much more outstanding than I imagined."
Sherlock stood in the rain. His hair was all wet and hanging down on his cheeks. He picked up a rope from somewhere and tied his messy hair behind his head. Facing the old high priest, he put on a fake smile like those workers in the downtown area when they met their boss.
"Not at all, I only helped a little."
"You don't need to put on this look!" Suddenly, a voice came from beside him.
Sherlock turned his head and saw Catherine walking over weakly. There were dark lines under her skin. Sherlock guessed that the blood vessels in her body were in some kind of spasm after the backlash. There were traces of blood in her mouth, but she did not care. She did not even want her entourage to shelter her from the rain.
"You've done well. The Vatican will give you the reward you deserve, so your humility will only annoy people."
Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. He felt that the judgment nun did not like him.
"How did you do it?" Catherine asked again.
"What do you mean, how?"
"Don't play dumb! You just killed a deacon of the judicial department…!" Her tone became heavier.
"Oh, that's… I have a gun." Sherlock gestured with his hand. "At that time, Baldell was very weak and could be killed with a gun."
These words were completely somewhere between explanation and fart. Catherine was very upset and was about to question him, but suddenly… she inexplicably felt a strong sense of justification between the lines.
Yes, the whole process was like this. What she saw with her own eyes was a gun killing a person who could be killed with a gun.
This strange but real narrative made her hesitate for a moment…
"Have you killed a lot of people?"
"I did kill some." Sherlock fiddled with a puddle of stagnant water with his shoe and answered absent-mindedly. He raised his head and added, "They're all within the scope of the law."
Catherine narrowed her eyes suspiciously…