Chapter 65: Scimitar Of Allah (2)
Secret manuals and legendary weapons are the legacies that great geniuses leave behind in the martial world. Passed down through generations, they continue to reach successors yet to be born.
–Joseph Addison1
“Please, don’t let it be too late.”
The first time I felt a sense of unease was when I was strangling Timothy Young earlier.
As I checked his acupoints, I noticed a minute amount of Essence circulating within him, which was almost imperceptible.
The reason I did not take any action despite confirming this was simple.
Even after consuming the Qi Disperser, it was common for such a small amount of Essence to leak and circulate after a day.
There was no sign of him attempting suicide by poison, and the Qi Frequency was barely detectable.
I considered the possibility that Moriarty had used tracking scents like Hundred Thymes with murderous intent, but I did not detect any suspicious odors.
Most importantly, I was satisfied, thinking I had extracted all the necessary information from him. However, thinking back now, I should have questioned the fact that he appeared so triumphant when I entered the room disguised as Sebastian Moran.
“You’re late…!! What have you been doing all this time!!”
The Phantom Fist clearly said that.
As if he had been waiting for me.
At first, I thought he might have mistaken me for someone from the company, an acquaintance, or a lawyer called by his family, but that wasn’t the case.
He believed that no matter where he was imprisoned, the mastermind behind this incident would find him.
In other words, Moriarty always had a way to locate Timothy Young.
The minute amount of Essence I detected was the key to it all.
“Holmes? What is it this time―”
“Move aside immediately, Lestrade!!”
I separated the scabbard of the Heavenly Demon Cane and held it in my right hand.
-Kiiing!!
Infusing it with Essence, I activated the cane’s first gimmick. As I swung it swiftly, its form began to change.
The Shape Memory Tai-Yi Alloy covering the tip of the cane peeled away like thin apple skin, rapidly transforming into a sharp and solid axe blade.
What emerged was the first transformation of the Heavenly Demon Cane, modeled after the Dane Axe, known to be the favored weapon of Richard the Lionheart.
Moriarty’s assassin might have already infiltrated inside.
The axe was prepared for combat within enclosed spaces.
As I split the door and rushed inside, I saw Timothy Young unconscious, but there were no other signs of life.
“We need to hurry.”
The worst-case scenario was avoided.
Now, before Moriarty attempts to eliminate the evidence, I must prevent his escape and move him to a secure location.
There is a world of difference between a death met by execution after a fair trial and one met through the machinations of a villain trying to destroy evidence.
-Pa-pa-pat!!
I quickly approached him and pressed his acupoints.
Though brief, I managed to put the Phantom Fist into a comatose state, halting the circulation of his Essence, then grabbed him by the collar to drag him into the hallway.
“…!!”
A chilling sensation engulfed my entire body.
The ominous premonition detected by my heightened senses due to my internal energy.
The accumulated information converged into an intuition that bordered on foresight.
Fail to react, and death awaits.
Even if I react in time, failing to move means death.
An energy flying swiftly towards this way from beyond the thick wall.
Its speed and power were beyond comparison to the mere fist blast Timothy Young had unleashed upon the Postmaster General days prior.
-Whoosh!
My body moved without conscious thought.
Simultaneously throwing Timothy Young to the floor and spinning my body.
I confronted the approaching death with the axe in my right hand.
-Clang!!!
The energy, flying faster than the speed of sound, collided with the axe blade.
The impact spread throughout the narrow room.
“Ugh…!!”
A killing strike so swift that even perceiving it, let alone evading it with footwork, was near impossible.
It was light as a feather, yet due to its terrifying speed, this energy possessed formidable lethality, making it no easy task to fend off.
It felt akin to blocking a master’s sword strike at point-blank range.
Fortunately, I was wielding an axe, and not a sword.
If I focus my arm strength and internal energy entirely on the axe blade’s point of impact, I can cleave that fierce aura in two.
However, relying solely on sharpness to split the energy would cause fragments to pierce my body.
‘In that case, I’ll deflect it.’
I subtly twisted my wrist holding the single-edged axe, deflecting the energy that clashed with the blade.
-Whoosh!
As if an eternity had passed, the sound and wind pressure that followed belatedly ruffled my hair and passed by.
When I looked up, I saw a crescent moon on the ceiling.
To be precise, a new moon-shaped hole, cleanly cut without leaving a single stone fragment, as if carved by a wraith.
When I turned my gaze to the wall, there was an identical hole of the same size and shape.
‘…To think they would go this far just to kill a small fry.’
It was an assassination attempt, executed with Kung-Fu perfectly controlled without wasting an ounce of strength.
“Lestrade. Handle the Phantom Fist.”
An astonishingly stealthy and ruthless move.
If I hadn’t come, that sharp Sword aura would have pierced through Timothy Young’s heart.
“Is he there?”
I finished determining the location of the assassin by the angle from which the energy had flown in.
“I’ll be back shortly.”
Before the dazed inspector could respond, I used my sword to cut a circular hole in the wall and leapt out.
The cold night air clawed at my face at 4 a.m.
Ominous dark clouds obscure the new moon over London.
The first thing Henry Fawcett, the Postmaster General, did upon returning home, was to attend to David.
The large pigeon, reminiscent of an Albatross, was perched on the roof, sound asleep with its head buried in its chest.
Making a round trip between London and the Santiago de Compostela Cathedral across the sea in just one day is no easy feat, even for a spiritual creature.
“You’ve suffered a lot because of human mistakes.”
Fawcett relieved the pigeon’s fatigue by pressing its acupuncture points and then filled its feed dish generously with food mixed with elixir. He did not forget to cover its back with a blanket as usual.
He had gone back to his bedroom to sleep but woke up early in the morning.
Taking advantage of his sleeplessness, he completed his breathing exercises and felt the refreshing energy coursing through the meridians of his entire body.
Fawcett looked up at the still- dark London night sky and poured lukewarm liquor into a glass.
His mind was filled with thoughts about the resolved serial murder case from the previous night.
Mostly about the investigative consultant who played the biggest role in solving the case.
‘So much for cherishing your disciple. You’ve been shielding him like this…’
Memories of his master.
-Creak.
When he opened the drawer, two old boxes were revealed.
Among them, the one Fawcett picked up was a box made from carved stone.
The item inside was a ring.
‘So we finally meet like this.’
In his younger years, not long after his eyesight faded.
There was a man who showed Fawcett, who was about to give up on life and abandon Kung-Fu, a ray of light.
Possessing Kung-Fu talents that would never again be witnessed in human history, he was someone who transcended the mundane world and the ordinary, walking the path of a grandmaster. Fawcett, drawn by a peculiar connection, formed a friendship with him.
The Kung-Fu Echolocation taught by the man showed Fawcett that he could walk the right path even without sight.
Fawcett was inspired by the grandmaster’s strength and purpose, and before he knew it, he had become an ardent follower and supporter.
And this ring was a symbol shared between comrades who shared the same ideals at that time.
“…Successor of the Heavenly Demon, indeed, the reputation is well-deserved.”
It was Fawcett’s first time meeting Sherlock Holmes, but he had already realized that Holmes was the successor of that grandmaster.
The characteristics of the debutant he encountered at the Central Post Office perfectly matched the achievements of the disciple which the grandmaster had tirelessly spoken about at the Reform Club countless times.
Throughout their collaboration, Fawcett observed him closely.
‘I am Sherlock Holmes, working as a consulting detective. I received the overly generous nickname of Little Heavenly Demon from my master.’
‘Little Heavenly Demon, a charming call sign. And what about your friend?’
.
.
.
‘You continuously remind me of that man.’
‘Does that man happen to have the same surname as mine?’
‘Oh. How did you know?’
.
.
.
While reminiscing about old times during their journey together, they conversed and observed each other’s skills. He did not dodge the flying hidden weapons aimed at him, all to confirm the character and achievements of his friend’s disciple.
“I’ve made a difficult promise, but as a man, I must keep it.”
Before leaving London, the grandmaster entrusted a piece of heritage to each of the guardians and friends, sharing rings with them.
He requested that when someone who inherited his Kung-Fu lore and proved their qualifications appeared, they should deliver this gift to him.
And, if circumstances allowed, to lend him their strength.
The reason Fawcett shared with Holmes the secret mnemonic of the Brain Stopper passed down in the Kunlun Cathedral was also because he recalled his promise to the grandmaster.
“……”
Now that the grandmaster has disappeared and the Reform Club disciples who walked the same path have scattered, these are just memories to occasionally ponder over a drink.
But with the appearance of the Heavenly Demon’s successor, these memories surfaced vividly in his mind.
-Gugugu…!
It was then that David’s cry was heard from outside the window.
Could he have woken up already, just moments after falling asleep?
Upon opening the window with a sense of foreboding, the noise from the Thames River’s disturbance rushed in.
A short but sharp Qi Frequency. A streak of arrow-like energy crossed the night sky of London.
‘This is an ominous sign.’
The Thames River reversed its course.
Since ancient times, such nature-defying phenomena have never been good omens.
‘The path walked by the successor of the Heavenly Demon will be filled with swords and spears.’
Sherlock Holmes must be given the Heavenly Demon’s heritage for the many trials he will face. And, a personal reward as well.
Henry Fawcett made this resolution as he took out another empty glass and filled it with liquor.
He placed the glass on the windowsill, in honor of his friend whom he hadn’t heard from in years.
Just as he had done long ago, he prayed for the day when he could clink glasses with him again.
Immediately after leaping out of Scotland Yard, I employed Air Walk to consecutively jump over the rooftops of a few buildings.
Using my eye technique, I noticed that the crescent-shaped hole that appeared on the police headquarters wall was also present in the buildings I had just leapt over.
As expected, the shot was not from a nearby building.
The assassin attempted the assassination by sending energy from a location much farther away, out of sight from Scotland Yard.
By mentally extending the line of trajectory that pierced through the walls and ceiling of the room where Timothy Young was, the position of the culprit naturally came into view.
However.
“My goodness.”
Looking down, I saw the Thames surging with large waves.
Am I seeing that wrong?
It seems like the river is flowing backward.
-Thud!
Forcing myself to ignore the sight that made me doubt my eyes, I jumped down in front of Hungerford Bridge and began running along Victoria Embankment.
- TL/N: Books are the legacies that a great genius leaves to mankind, which are delivered down from generation to generation, as presents to the posterity of those who are yet unborn ️