Detective Agency of the Bizarre
Chapter 623 - 623 142

623: 142.

Pluck the Strings of Fate 623: 142.

Pluck the Strings of Fate The dim yellow streetlights shone through the window.

On the bedside table rested an oil lamp, with a shadow silently flipping through an ancient book on the history of the Old Duchy of Saint Mark.

Anna accompanied Lu Li, gazing at his profile.

At a certain moment, as Lu Li intently read a passage, an eerily quiet, twisted black shadow extended from Anna’s feet, forming a pitch-black silhouette identical to Anna’s.

It seemed like the Shadow Thief of Fire had left Anna’s feet, squeezing through the narrow crack of the window and out of the room.

Anna continued to keep Lu Li company, as tranquil as if nothing had happened.

…

The silhouette of a girl in a long dress “walked” on the road surface.

It was like someone’s shadow, but there was only the illusory silhouette without a real part.

When it encountered pedestrians, the shadow would hide in dimly lit areas or blend into other shadows for concealment.

The shadow didn’t know where it was going, weaving between the streets.

The buildings along the road weren’t an obstacle for a shadow; it could easily “walk” up them, light or no light.

After a dozen minutes or so, the shadow arrived at a bustling street.

Groups of two or three pedestrians passed by, carrying with them a whiff of the aroma of fine liquor.

Perhaps having strayed too far, the shadow’s color became dim and shifted toward dark gray, as if it were a spectral shadow in the mist.

It found its target, a Scavenger leaning under a streetlight with a bottle of alcohol in hand.

Burp—

Tommy let out a belch of alcohol, the cheap malt taste escaping his mouth.

He felt lucky that evening, having found more than half a bottle of beer discarded on the street, much to his benefit.

Leaning against the streetlight, with a warm tattered coat over his legs, enjoying the beautiful night scene with a half-full bottle of beer in hand—this enjoyment intoxicated him.

As Tommy marveled, he saw a shadow slip into a dark alley not far behind him.

He rubbed his eyes and looked carefully.

After a few seconds, he shook his head and diverted his gaze.

“I’ve only had one drink…

It’s that damn fake alcohol again, no wonder it was thrown away.”

Even though he said this, Tommy was reluctant to discard the beer that was likely adulterated with poor-quality alcohol, synthetic flavors, and dirty water, hoping he wouldn’t feel too dizzy later.

Two pedestrians passed by Tommy, and once they were far enough away, the silhouette hidden in the alley “walked” out and merged into the shadow of an oblivious Tommy.

Tommy, clutching the bottle, suddenly found his left hand lifting on its own.

“What?”

Tommy subconsciously tried to set down the bottle to push his left hand down, but his right hand also wouldn’t obey him.

Clang—

The beer fell to the ground without breaking.

However, all the liquid spilled out.

“My beer—” Tommy’s cry of distress cut off abruptly.

Only slightly tipsy, he suddenly became lucid, but he could no longer make any sound, not even a cry of terror—

He watched in horror as his body stood up on its own and took a clumsy step forward!

Tommy staggered on the street like a drunken sot.

The residents who came face-to-face or passed by looked on with disgust and steered clear, but if any of them took a closer look at the “drunkard’s” face, they would notice it filled with terror.

If there were even more observant passersby watching the drunkard’s trajectory, they would see he avoided the dim areas untouched by streetlights.

When passing through darker areas, his body would unnaturally tremble and struggle as if two consciousnesses were fighting for control.

The swaying drunkard entered a dark and damp alley.

Next to it was a tavern, and the alley was filled with the odor of vomit and excrement.

He then collided heavily with the wall and passed out, falling amidst the filth.

The silhouette of a girl in a long dress emerged from the Scavenger’s shadow, navigated around the filth, and “walked” on the wall, climbing over the enclosing wall.

This was the backyard of the tavern, where some merchandise and guests’ carriages were stored.

Squeak—

A rat cautiously poked its head out from beneath a crack in the wall.

The shadow on the wall turned its head as if it were looking at the rat, then moved forward.

The rat had no defenses against the approaching shadow on the wall and its own shadow was instantly occupied.

Rustle rustle—

The normally timid rat suddenly shot out of a crack in the wall and ran towards the corner where kerosene was stored in a wooden barrel.

Its sharp incisors gnawed open the barrel lid, releasing a pungent kerosene odor.

Kerosene was not part of the rat’s diet, not even for one starved.

But this rat still stuck its head in, and after a few lapping sounds, it emerged with its cheeks bulging and scurried straight to the carriage in the yard, slipping into the carriage.

Soon, the rat scurried out of the carriage and climbed back onto the barrel to draw more kerosene.

It continued this odd shuttle between the barrel and the carriage, transporting kerosene.

After about a dozen trips, the rat, just returning from the carriage, suddenly looked up at the entrance—

A young lad, carrying an oil lamp, came into the backyard.

The shadow “walked” out of the rat’s shadow and approached the lad from a direction invisible to him.

The abandoned rat wobbled and fell over, kerosene-tainted bodily fluid leaking from its mouth.

The lad, following routine to check the backyard, was utterly unaware as a shadow “walked” into his own shadow.

There was no change in the lad’s behavior, just a seemingly random thought that suddenly surfaced: Who would steal anything from a tavern’s backyard?

There’s nothing worth checking there, better to slack off and rest a while…

Once laziness set in it quickly expanded, and the lad soon convinced “himself” that as there had been no problems for so long, there wouldn’t be any today either, so he slipped back to the warmth of the bar.

Click—

The wooden door closed, leaving the shadow of a young lady in a long skirt behind.

…

Meteorite Street.

The name Meteorite Street didn’t come from an actual meteorite falling here; it was just that some royal family had suddenly changed the name hundreds of years ago.

Exiting the Nightshade Tavern, Flay and Mark Rhode came out the front door.

“Don’t forget about tomorrow’s matter, you can call on us if you need company,” Flay said to Rhode.

“I will.”

After saying their farewells, Flay rode away in Mark’s carriage.

The tavern lad, leading the carriage, walked up, and Rhode set the oil lamp beside the carriage, then got in and drove away from the tavern entrance.

Is that a smell?

Rhode turned and sniffed, sensing a familiar odor emanating from inside the carriage, and he felt something sticky beneath him…

His fingers slid over the carriage panel, then to his nose.

The stinging scent penetrated his nostrils.

Kerosene…?

Just as the thought occurred to him, a Scavenger suddenly bolted from the alley beside the tavern, drunkenly staggering headfirst into the carriage.

The carriage shifted trivially, but the oil lamp resting on the panel was knocked over, its glass cover shattered.

The flame, which should have gone out quickly, touched the carriage and, like a larger wick, fire spread rapidly, engulfing the entire carriage.

Fizz fizz!

The flames in the carriage spooked the horses, which started to bolt.

Before Rhode, who could have jumped out, realized what was happening, he was tumbling into the burning carriage—

“Rhode’s death was painful,” Flay said gravely.

“They say he screamed for nearly half a minute before he finally fell silent.”