The Great Demon Holmes

Chapter 20: Rewards??

Chapter 20 - Rewards??

No matter how you listen to it, it has a strong underlying meaning. And...

"I have killed a few~" This answer is also awkward.

It's not that a detective can't kill people, but coming from Sherlock's mouth, coupled with his previous actions, it feels like there are countless strange and macabre stories behind those words.

Catherine squinted at him, remaining silent for a while. As a clergy member of the Holy See, she couldn't really let go of her identity to inquire about a commoner's past.

Fortunately, at this moment, Sherlock changed the subject himself. "Uh, did you mention... rewards?"

"What the Holy See bestows cannot be called rewards!... They should be called blessings!" Catherine corrected sharply.

"Of course, dear lady, whatever you say."

In Catherine's eyes, Sherlock's smile always seemed full of insincerity. She had to exert considerable effort to try to connect the person in front of her with the figure who had just demonstrated such extraordinary capabilities.

Then, she tilted her head slightly and asked, "So what do you want?"

She naturally exuded an air of superiority in her tone, because behind her was the Holy See. Receiving rewards from the Holy See was enough to make anyone feel elevated, as the Holy See wouldn't tell you what you could get; they would let you say it yourself, after all, the Holy See could fulfill almost any wish as long as you had the qualifications.

But even with such a question carrying supreme honor, it momentarily stumped Sherlock.

Rewards... Did he have to think about it himself?

Seeing Sherlock looking lost for words, Catherine thought he was overwhelmed by the grace of the Holy See. Finally, she smiled from the bottom of her heart and said, "I know it's a difficult question... but money, power, honor, all of those are possible. You can even ask for better service to the Holy Light. I can arrange for you to have your own church in the suburbs of London!"

Sherlock remained silent, his eyebrows furrowing tighter and tighter. The drizzle dripped into his unkempt stubble, which hadn't been trimmed in a while.

Killing a Judgment Executor just now didn't trouble him as much as this.

Because he felt that money, power, and such things didn't have much appeal to him. In reality, he only enjoyed catching murderers, solving cases, and keeping his mind occupied. That was all.

So, after ten seconds... thirty seconds... a minute...

"Give me some time. I need to think..."

That was his eventual response.

...

The rain cloud in the sky was like a bladder with its urethra blocked, finally being relieved and madly pouring out the accumulated liquid.

Under the curtain of rain, the battle that had nearly destroyed half a street wasn't actually very long. The entire process probably took no more than five minutes.

The post-battle workers had already set up makeshift tents. Gas stoves were lit inside the tents, and they even provided hot water and food to satisfy their hunger. Because the wounded, the heavy steam armor, and the clergy members couldn't be lifted away by airship, and the support transport team would take over an hour to arrive, they could only temporarily regroup and rest in place.

Sherlock was currently sitting in one of the tents. The detective, who had initially been abandoned on the battlefield with no one caring about his life or death, suddenly seemed to have been promoted to a position of great importance.

At least for now, only Catherine and the High Priest had tents to take shelter from the rain.

Occasionally, some nuns would come in with the most professional battlefield medical equipment to examine Sherlock's injuries and provide treatment.

In the Holy See's position planning, nuns were generally responsible for daily prayers and receiving visitors at city churches. Only a few who had received specialized medical training could go to war zones. Compared to ordinary medical personnel, these battlefield nuns were proficient in almost all baptismal rituals and prayer oaths. They could console soldiers whose faith had collapsed due to slaughter or fear. They held a high-ranking position among the nuns.

Of course, Catherine, as a Judgment Sister, was not included in this category. After all, she was a second-tier contractor and was no longer a grassroots member of the Holy See.

In any case, such treatment was definitely not something an ordinary civilian could enjoy...

Thin threads of sutures passed through the wounds on Sherlock's back. Although he had only appeared for a few seconds, he couldn't avoid getting injured while observing the battlefield from the edge. However, the injuries were not severe, to the point of paralysis or amputation. This made him feel that the nun behind him was being overly cautious in her techniques.

There were several occasions when he wanted to remind her that she could be rougher. After all, he had only been shot a few times. It would have been more convenient to dig out the bullets with his hands instead of using tweezers. But seeing the fine beads of sweat on her forehead and the gaze of fear that she couldn't meet his eyes, he didn't have the heart to disturb her.

A few minutes passed, and the wounds on his body had been mostly treated. The nun then performed a humble gesture known as the "act of submission" towards Sherlock, reverently, as if facing a clergy member of the Holy See.

Perhaps the High Priest or someone else had given some specific instructions to this nun...

In any case, Sherlock felt quite embarrassed. He awkwardly responded with an unfamiliar etiquette, "Thank you for your help."

This sentence made the nun tremble, and she glanced at him with a look of panic. She quickly bowed her head, silently reciting prayers, and exited the tent.

Shortly after the nun left, the tent curtain was lifted again.

This time, a Holy See guard without steam armor entered. After entering, he glanced at Sherlock with curiosity, gratitude, and, above all, fear, but he hid it well. He spoke with a respectful tone, "High Priest... please come over."

...

...

Sherlock lifted the curtain of a nearby tent, shaking off the rainwater from his body.

The tent was filled with medical equipment, some of which required electricity to operate. Sherlock wondered where the Holy See people obtained portable power sources.

In the center of the tent was a bed, looking somewhat out of place. The High Priest was currently lying on the bed, though he didn't appear to have any major injuries. However, there was an intravenous drip hanging above his arm, and a certain crimson liquid was flowing into his body through the tube.

"A nutrition solution, they say it relieves mental stress and reduces pain." Seeing Sherlock's gaze, the High Priest explained helplessly, "Those medical personnel always think that I'll die for various peculiar reasons."

"Considering your age, it's true that you're not suited for combat." Sherlock smiled in response, as if visiting an old friend lying in bed. "So why did you call me here?"

The High Priest moved back, allowing himself to semi-recline on the bed. He scrutinized Sherlock once again:

"Do you... want to become a contractor?"

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