Mystery: The Ancient God is Actually Me

"My name is... Amon."

The hazy hallucinations lingered in front of Derrick's eyes, and the sudden sense of etherealness reached its peak at this time. He stared at the ordinary young man who suddenly appeared in front of him, and tried his best to open his eyes. The light expands on the surface of the body, and the out-of-focus eyes can only see a lake of mold.

The twisted white light trembled in the ground. On the upper floor of the round tower, in the house where Colin was, the old chief stared at the direction of the ground, and his light blue eyes flashed and blurred for a moment.

"Kids... kids?"

The old voice was weak and distorted through the steel wall. Derrick fancied Huhu with his head supported, and his viewpoint refocused.

"What happened to me just now?"

For some reason, he suddenly felt as if his spirituality had been drained, and his brain felt unnatural pain.

He felt as if he had forgotten something...

"By the way, you asked me what that person's name was just now, and then you suddenly did."

The old voice was still calm, and Derrick, who had a splitting headache, flashed a trace of doubt in his eyes, and his lips pursed into a line.

I asked the Gentile's name, and then... Derrick adjusted his sitting position to make him more comfortable, breathing in the cold air in the dungeon, trying to get his thoughts back on track.

Is there something wrong with that person's name, or is it a side effect of that herbal medicine just now?

Although he has only become a Beyonder not long ago, the general education courses in Silver City have always emphasized that the names of some mysterious beings themselves symbolize certain powers, and it is very likely that just mentioning them will lead to unimaginable disasters.

I won't be polluted too, will I?

While thinking, the terrifying guess suddenly swept across his body with a coolness, and even the tormented headache and emptiness were washed away a lot.

The old voice behind him was still muttering something through the iron wall, Derrick touched his body in a panic, endured the severe pain, the holy light penetrated his skin, purifying himself with holy light, and only a little bit. Take a breath.

No mutation...at least I haven't been executed by "Crown of Glory"...

In the cell next door, the blood of the out-of-control person was still filled with blood mixed with the smell of rust. Derrick smelled the smell and tried his best to squeeze his saliva down his throat.

"Well, why didn't you speak?"

Rhythmically knocking against the wall, the old voice whispered.

"No, it's nothing, the herbs just now seem to be working, I'm a little uncomfortable." Derrick Lake replied.

"Oh, just take a little more rest," the old voice had seen too many times and didn't care too much, "I hope you won't be executed by the Sealed Artifacts here so soon."

He comforted Derrick a little badly, and his voice gradually subsided.

Rest... But if I am contaminated, I wonder if Mr. Fool will allow me to participate in the Tarot Club... Derrick, who heard the response, subconsciously followed the other party's suggestion, Climbing back to the low bed, his tall body curled up into a ball, his eyes staring at the ceiling blankly.

The pain deep in his brain continued, he raised his palm and squeezed the socket of his right eye.

Suddenly, the pain disappeared.

In the next room, the old man with his head split along the central axis leaned against the cold iron wall, the corners of his grim mouth kept a smile, and the eyes that were far apart gradually lost their light.

............

Backlund factory area on Tuesday morning.

Before receiving a reply from Mr. Azik, Klein, who was a little worried about the recent actions of MI9 and the gang, came to the densely populated area of ​​​​the East District alone.

This time, instead of relying entirely on illusion, he found a hotel near the street and rented a room for a long time.

After changing into an ordinary worker's uniform, he wrapped the chain-blade walking stick in sackcloth and disguised it as a stalk that could be seen everywhere, but it looked much shorter.

After Kapin's fall, he left a lot of blank space outside the original gang's sphere of influence, and it has become even more uneven recently... Klein, with his cap down, carefully observed his surroundings, in order to distinguish him from Sherlock Moriarty. His appearance, he took off his flat glasses, and even the beard made through the human skin mask became thinner.

In the suburbs of Backlund, the construction of a new wharf is recruiting... After walking for a while, he sneaked into a street corner where laid-off workers often gather, and borrowed a crumpled flyer from the crowd.

I remember that the old Kohler told me this kind of recruitment inspiration last time. The so-called new dock construction company will pay to bring suitable workers and their families to their construction sites. Therefore, this project has been sought after by many workers. The peasants who were forced to enter the city because of the "Corn Law Eucalyptus" even more enthusiastically participated in the registration, and almost regarded this as the hope of future life.

However, the whole family moved... Klein carefully read the above description and read it two or three times, but did not find any part about the construction site. There was only one registration address at the No. 2 port in the dock area.

To be honest, after knowing the conspiracy of the royal family, I now wonder if this is the secret method of the royal family to gather the population... With a long sigh, Klein's inspiration was touched. Dao commented his gaze, and saw a man who looked like a foreman was standing in front of the group of unemployed workers, arrogantly gazing at the relatively healthy ones among them, among which he glanced at Klein several times.

"Sword Comes"

The sound of ding ding bang reminded around, and the workers who stared numbly one after another suddenly came back to their senses, with a rare brilliance in their eyes, and tentatively stood up.

"Cough, unloading the package at the dock, I only need three people."

The foreman, who was only a little stronger than ordinary workers, looked at the thin bones who moved closer, curled his lips in disappointment, and after scolding, he smeared their bodies without restraint.

For a while, he pinched the arms of the workers who looked the healthiest, and then vigorously opened the old guy and the sick man who wanted to come over and begged to choose him. Finally, after a little bit of effort, he collected three A middle-aged man who looks about the same.

"Sir, I can too..."

There was also a middle-aged and elderly man clutching the foreman's clothes, with the wrinkles on his face twisted together, pleading bitterly.

"Sir, I only need sixpence a week..."

"Sixpence?" The irritable foreman threw off his hand, frowned deeply, and lit a cigarette whose brand could not be seen.

He took a deep breath of the filter, and after slowly exhaling white smoke, he said with his nose sideways:

"Sixpence a week is now being done by farmers younger than you, and if you'd like fourpence a week, I might consider it."

Four pennies a week!

The middle-aged and elderly man with a hunched body suddenly twitched his cheeks, and his mouth, which was still brewing other words, suddenly froze.

Sixpence a week is only enough for him to rent a floor of someone else's house, and he can only sleep at night, and the remaining money is enough to cover his food expenses for a week, and he can't save it at all.

If he's doing the same job and only four pence a week, there's no place to sleep, just huddled under the bridge as he is now, but that's absolutely not going to get enough rest, more than three weeks at the most, less than one In a month, he will lose his job again due to lack of physical strength, and he may even fall ill in this colder and colder early winter. Whether he can survive this winter is another question.

Seeing this middle-aged and elderly man put his hands down, the foreman had heavy eyebrows, took a deep breath of cigarette, cursed inwardly, and threw his body away, followed by a few lucky workers who were chosen just now eagerly, leaving only the The man behind him stood there helplessly, motionless.

The other workers around who were not selected and were still forced to live unemployed witnessed all this numbly. When they saw that they had no hope, they havetily looked away, or conserved their strength, or continued to gather around literate people. Trying to find a new way out of the recently handed out flyers.

"Khloe, right?"

Hearing an unfamiliar voice calling out his name, the middle-aged and elderly man who was standing still turned his head, an irrepressible expression of hope on his face, which seemed to be mixed with a little panic.

The disguised Klein looked at the man in front of him, whose face was even paler than before. The man's beard was longer, his gray hair was greasy, and even the thick jacket on his body had more stains.

"Don't you remember me?" He raised some of the peaked caps over his head, and his disguised light blue eyes blinked lightly.

"I said that if I come to the East End next time and need a guide, I will come to you."

Guide... The hope on Old Kohler's face slowly spread, and the light in his eyes lit up.

"Good sir, is that you?"

His voice was very low, his hands subconsciously wanted to hold Klein, but he timidly retracted it.

"But why are you dressed like this, I didn't recognize you at first."

Following Klein's footsteps, they walked out of the center of the crowd. Old Kohler swept up and down the clothes that Klein and the ordinary workers in the East District were all dressed up in, and probed his head in confusion.

"You know, reporters sometimes need to investigate something secretly." Klein looked forward and said casually.

Old Kohler, who followed closely, said "oh", his eyes swept around, and while Klein was not paying attention, he hurriedly straightened his hair and pulled his clothes a few times, trying his best not to look so sloppy. .

After walking for about a minute or two, the two walked out of the street corner where unemployed workers gathered and turned to the outer street where the factories were densely packed.

There are some cheap bars and cafes scattered here, providing workers with a rare place to rest and relax.

He glanced at the pocket watch in his pocket, and found that Klein, who was close to noon, walked into a nearby cafe and sat by the window, his sleeves did not touch the greasy tabletop.

"We're talking while we eat. I'm going to ask you some questions. This meal is one of the rewards."

Old Kohler, who had an empty stomach, was not pretentious, but his movements were still somewhat restrained and he sat opposite Klein. His eyes were directed at the table, focusing on the greasy spots.

"What do you want to eat?"

Klein read the simple menu and asked casually.

"I can do anything, all you need is some brown bread and tea." Kohler waved his hand quickly, his throat moving.

Black bread... Klein would think of the hard and dry food mixed with wood **** he had eaten in Tingen, and resolutely chose its close relatives.

"Three white breads, a bowl of goulash, coffee, and Dixie pie."

After pointing out a few words with his finger, Klein handed the menu and banknotes to the boss who also served as a waiter. He watched the middle-aged man, whose hair and beard were much neater than the workers outside the house, walked quickly to the kitchen and told himself. After shouting a few times, the wife who was the cook hurried to another location.

"Sir, you really don't need to..."

The old Kohler on the opposite side was still saying something with a worried expression. Klein breathed a sigh of relief and interrupted him:

"You can call me Mr. Moriarty, my name is Moriarty."

He looked at the unemployed worker whose mental and physical health were not very good, and tapped his arms rhythmically with his fingers around his chest, and said in a low voice:

"Take advantage of the time before dinner, we can talk about your compensation."

Saying that, Klein winked mischievously in order to make the other party relax.

It's just a pity that he has been wearing a human skin mask for a certain period of time, and his face has become stiff to do this kind of action, and he has not shown the gentleness he should have.

"I'm actually..." Kohler recalled the last time this gentleman Kang gave a sule of remuneration, and all kinds of thoughts fought in his heart. After struggling for a while, he smiled reluctantly and said actively:

"You only need to pay me sevenpence once."

As he said that, seeing that Klein did not respond, he nervously explained the reason why he hoped it was seven pence.

"Yes, I want to get another job, but if so, I have to have a place to rest, and if it's sevenpence, I can rent a floor where I can rest at night all week.. …”

He rambled about the strange rental method in the East District~www.readwn.com~ Klein's lowered eyes slowly raised.

"Sule once a week, if the effect is good this time, I can consider hiring you for a long time."

Klein nodded unquestionably, and then reviewed the questions he had already arranged in his mind. Without giving Old Kohler a chance to breathe, he quickly asked:

"Answer me a question first, have you heard about who the gangsters in the Eastern District are looking for recently?"

He looked into the middle-aged and elderly worker's eyes and nodded slightly.

"wanted?"

Old Kohler was obviously a little surprised by this question, but he didn't ask why, just thought for a while, and then quickly gave an answer.

"I seem to have heard that they are going to arrest two people at the dock recently, but it doesn't seem like the same gang is arresting people."

"Not the same?" Klein was a little surprised.

Old Kohler looked out the window and continued to recall:

"Yeah, it seems like some Protestant people in the East End are after someone named... Azik Eggers, but another little gangster in the Docklands is looking for someone else."

"As far as I know, the big gangs like the Tories and the Whigs are quiet, only some of the smaller gangs that have been more active lately have issued wanted notices."

"Well...the names written on the wanted list over there at the dock seem to be Maric and..."

Old Kohler frowned. After thinking hard for a while, he shook his head with guilt.

"Sorry, Mr. Moriarty, the other one I don't remember exactly."

Miss Sharon...

Dong... Klein's fingers tapped lightly on the table.

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