Heavenly Demon Holmes: London’s Subjugation

Those without enemies cannot gain true allies.

**–**Alfred Tennyson, <Idylls of the King>

[Yes. It was something we expected to happen ever since the demon began committing serial murders.]

“…It seems the information has finally leaked to Rome.”

The Zion Clan’s leadership is divided between the hawkish faction, the Eagle Sect, which prefers to bite at other forces, and the dovish faction, the Dove Sect, which advocates for hunting only those who practice Demonic arts while maintaining neutrality.

The first thing to figure out in this situation is who the hawkish martial artist is that was chosen to enter the palace as a representative, even at the risk of embarrassing the former Primate of All Ireland, classified under the Dove Sect…

“With a disguised assassin and a leftwing Lily Monk causing trouble, the cries of the royal attendants can be heard even from here.”

As Watson and I rose from our seats, Mycroft gestured with his eyes and sent a sound transmission to me alone.

[There’s one more person ready to put a knife to your neck. Leave the palace while I’m still speaking nicely.] The warriors of the Zion Clan, especially the Exorcists or Inquisitors, are fanatics who wield their swords without regard for time or place when they see someone who has learned Demonic arts. They possess strength fitting their twisted faith.

It’s unlike Mycroft to act as if he’s looking out for his brother.

It’s likely that he thinks things will become troublesome if a fight breaks out, and he’s trying to remove the source of his worries.

To think I’d just obediently back down because he pretends to care, his instincts seem to have dulled quite a bit.

[That’s nonsense. They say The Son Of Three Fathers A.K.A. Lü-Bu, is a nasty liar. A person who breaks a promise can’t be called an English gentleman. Especially if it’s a promise with Her Majesty.]

[Aren’t you afraid for your life?]

[You’re overthinking it. As long as no one finds out about my mastery of the Demonic arts, there poses no problem.]

[…If you wish to hasten your demise, do as you please.]

Mycroft, as if resigned, kept his lips tightly sealed while watching the old hall’s entrance.

As the head of the British Intelligence Butler Agency, who aids Her Majesty in advancing national interests, he has no reason to welcome the Zion Clan’s provocation.

Of course, as someone who

came to this place by Her Majesty’s grace, I can’t overlook such disgrace.

“What are you planning with such a serious face, Holmes?”

Due to the need to conceal information about my mastery of Demonic arts, I hadn’t shared the sound transmission with Watson, leaving her quite confused.

“Stay here. At the right moment, I’ll have a servant bring you inside.”

“Wait, what do you mean by that-”

After seating Watson again, I walked by the Queen’s Guards, who were trying hard to hide their surprise, and opened the door.

Silence filled the old hall’s first-floor lobby.

There, a diverse crowd gathered, including high-ranking guests attending the ball, masters from across the British Empire and abroad, as well as palace maids and servants.

In the middle of the crowd, there was a space created by someone.

A circular area with an extremely low population density, formed as people stepped back.

At the center stood an elderly priest and a young deacon who didn’t seem to be of age yet.

“…As we meditate on this mystery with the Thousand Hand Virgin Mary, the Mother of Mercy, we offer the Rosario, asking that sinners be spared from the punishment of hell and granted eternal joy.”

Two warriors of the Zion Clan prayed, each holding a Bible and with rosaries wrapped around their wrists.

At their feet lay a corpse and a discarded face mask.

The face of the body sprawled on the ground was someone I was well acquainted with.

“We pray through our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.”

The 8th Baron of Drake, Sir Francis Jacob Drake.

A man who boasted unparalleled Kung-Fu prowess lay dead without a single wound, his appearance pristine.

A face mask forcibly removed with a boot and a body that died without a scratch, causing a Technical Knock-Out.

I observed the bloody face and posture of the body from a distance but couldn’t discern what had transpired.

There were no cuts from a blade or traces left by Kung-Fu.

It meant those two Zion Clan warriors over there killed a transcendent master without laying a finger on him.

How on earth.

While I couldn’t easily answer that question, the reason the Baron had to die was clearly left beside the corpse.

It seemed while his son used forbidden elixirs, the father dabbled in something even more dangerous.

“They say like father, like son. Indeed.”

Around the deceased Baron Drake, Demonic qi had settled.

‘I heard he went abroad for a duel, but that was a lie.’

Seeing how much more viscous and murky his aura was compared to Phantom Fist, it seemed he gained some opportunity abroad and learned advanced Demonic arts.

No, in this case, it might be more appropriate to call it a misfortune, as he died without ever wielding the Demonic arts he had learned.

Doctors, including Watson, observe parents to understand the child. Conversely, one can learn about the parents through their children.

It was easy to infer the Baron’s character, willing to use any means to achieve his goals, just by looking at his children’s behavior.

No matter how you look at it, he seemed like the type who wouldn’t find it strange to dabble in Demonic arts.

In fact, he might not have mastered them because they suited him excessively well.

How can a person be so devoid of surprises?

‘It’s fortunate that Sir Drake didn’t release much energy.’

Despite being a master who had accumulated a significant amount of Essence, the Baron didn’t release much Demonic Qi at the scene of his death.

For someone like me, who experiences side effects from prolonged exposure to dense Demonic Qi, this was a relief.

If he had died more messily, the side effects of the Lionheart Method would have occurred, and those Zion Clan disciples over there would have realized I had practiced Demonic arts.

‘The cause of death, it’s that, after all.’

The air was thick with the intoxicating scent of lilies.

However, the baron wasn’t defeated by the Twenty-Four Lilies Sword Technique.

The evidence was the Baron’s skin, blackened in places by the erosion of Demonic Qi.

‘It seems the Demonic Qi exploded within his meridians.’

The reason little Demonic Qi was leaking from the corpse was that most of it had torn through his meridians and ravaged his internal organs.

In all my life, I’ve never seen someone be killed with one’s Signature Sound.

Actually, that’s an impossible feat unless one has reached the Unrestrained Realm.

It seems natural to think that they detected the presence of a demon with their Signature Sound and then used a secret technique that leaves no external injuries to kill Sir Drake.

‘At this rate, we might not be able to hold them accountable.’

What’s been bothering me since earlier is the fact that the Baron collapsed in the exact position he was in when trying to draw the weapon he had hidden on him.

No matter how fiery his temperament, he wouldn’t have lost his mind to the point of trying to kill a master of the Zion Clan while disguised as a servant.

It seemed to be related to the unusually foul feeling I had when I heard the Signature Sound earlier.

Nine times out of ten, Signature Sounds are imbued with an effect that forces a demon’s unique murderous impulse to surface.

The problem is, regardless of the reason or principle, they can simply excuse this murder by claiming they were merely exercising their rightful authority against a demon trying to kill them.

A method befitting an Inquisitor, no doubt.

The old Leftwing Monk from the Vatican who stands over there is definitely a monster.

“Well done.”

But no matter how skilled in Kung-Fu he may be, one cannot overlook such a discourtesy.

From what I heard earlier during the prayer, both the old man and the young fellow seem to be British, yet they dared to cause such a ruckus in

Her Majesty’s palace.

Resolutely, I stepped forward, enduring the sharp Sword aura piercing my lungs with each breath, and spoke.

“I ask, do you know where you are standing right now, old senior?”

Have you gone senile in your old age? What nerve do you have to act so arrogantly in the Forbidden Palace?

…I said as gentlemanly and politely as possible.

Among the two Zion Clan warriors who were conversing among themselves, the older priest responded to my voice.

-Whistle ♪

Understanding my intent, the young deacon smiled brightly and whistled.

The old man then turned his head towards me.

“……”

His expression was vacant.

Amidst the scent of blooming white lilies, his black eyes seemed ready to crumble under the weight of boredom.

Beyond that, as the Sword aura grew sharper, the unadorned raw nature of his humanity was laid bare.

‘Strong.’

Though it was my first time seeing him, my intuition whispered.

That old man is dangerous.

At the same time, my mind was deducing his identity based on the information I had gathered so far.

His age, inferred from the wrinkles on his face.

His manner of speaking, devoid of any Irish accent.

The old man was a Roman Catholic priest born and raised in England.

And among the Zion Clan priests from England, there aren’t many who can attend the royal ball as the representative of the former Primate of All Ireland.

[Sherlock. Withdraw immediately. That man is someone you cannot handle-]

I resented Mycroft’s belated sound transmission, but I had already made an irreversible decision and had no regrets.

[It’s too late.]

He is called,

the divine puppet who dedicates everything to the one watching from the heavens.

He is called,

the supernatural being who volunteers as the sword of the gatekeeper of heaven.

He is also called,

Witch Executioner,

Demon Beheader,

Demon-Destroying Lily,

Secret Sacred Relic Sword,

.

.

.

The madman of the Zion Clan, who earned numerous nicknames from his abnormal killing spree following his Brexit1.

The Cult Slayer, Father Brown, was smiling at me.

“…Yes.”

The old man’s face, as he slowly opened his mouth, was strangely unnatural.

Flawless and smooth like silk woven by a loom, but what loomed behind was not the craftsman’s fingers but the factory’s loom.

In the smile corrected by another’s hand, there was a faded, colorless gaze that only those who had abandoned humanity could possess.

“Was it you, the unnamed junior over there, who just asked this old monk where we are?”

The strong scent of lilies in the air couldn’t mask the stench of blood that numbed the tip of my nose.

I did not need anyone to tell me.

I knew that this man’s sword had claimed many human lives.

However, even if all that blood had flowed from demons and witches, the British legal system does not permit killing people simply for mastering Demonic arts.

Above all, as London’s only consulting detective, I couldn’t overlook such atrocities.

“I asked you.”

“Oh.”

As I walked forward and answered calmly, a glimmer of interest flickered in the priest’s soot-like eyes.

1. TL/N: Debut in the martial world ️