In the small photo, the black and white, blurry facial features can hardly be seen in more details, but it comes from the instinctive intuition of the "divineer" and the feeling that he seems to never change.
The sarcastic smile solidified at the corner of his mouth deeply touched the hatred imprinted in Klein's soul.
The cold resentment gradually reared its head, and endless whispers and sarcastic sneers surrounded Klein's ears. Time seemed to flow backwards, and he was brought back to the morning when he and Leonard discovered the provocative letter from Lanerwus.
It seemed like it had turned into a deserted land.
Klein's trembling eyes kept moving on that photo, on Lan Erwusi's face that had changed from a round face to an angular face, and he remained silent for a long time.
"Sherlock?"
Almost instantly, Klein's face returned to its usual softness, he nodded casually, and answered Mike's question accurately.
"No problem, of course I can sketch down this gentleman's appearance. In fact, I have already remembered his appearance deeply in my mind."
As he said that, he nodded his head humorously and never looked at the photo again.
Thanks to "Secret" for sponsoring the human skin mask. If I hadn't worn it for a full day, the muscles on my face could no longer move much. I'm afraid the expression on my face just now was out of control...
Klein looked at Mike, who still didn't believe it, and Mr. Rand, who looked suspicious about the situation just now, smiled reluctantly, and continued to explain:
"Actually, this is a type of criminal investigation. Lundborg University has a very wonderful course called the 'Thinking Palace'. As long as you concentrate and remember all the characteristics of the target, you can learn it from your mind even after a long time."
You can directly retrieve the content you want.”
"Of course, its only drawback is that most people act too scary when they mobilize their attention." At the end of the sentence, Klein smiled mischievously, rubbing his cheek with his right hand and speaking in a relaxed tone.
Mike, who didn't quite believe it, nodded in understanding and said matter-of-factly:
"It's really scary."
He had never heard of any similar criminal investigation courses, nor had he even heard of the strange term "Thinking Palace".
Praise to Emperor Russell, luckily he didn't plagiarize "Sherlock Holmes"... Klein smiled and immediately found an excuse to borrow an empty room and sketch down "Patrick's" appearance.
boom.
The door closed, and Klein stood alone in the empty office. The scene in front of him seemed to have changed in a trance, becoming no longer dim and gloomy. The sunshine outside the window gradually became brighter, and it did not look like it was always shrouded in haze.
Backlund.
This fantasy only lasted for less than a few seconds before it instantly returned to its original state. Everything in the office was still dim and lost its bright colors.
He didn't have time to feel sad, but he quickly built a spiritual wall and arranged the ritual of praying for the power of the gods with great skill.
He wants to use the power of "The Fool" to sketch!
In front of a short candle that was only one finger thick, Klein kept whispering to the delicate flame, and the simple logo symbolizing "The Fool" on the candle lit up instantly.
These were homemade ritual candles left over from the last sacrificial ceremony, so there was no need to waste any extra effort.
"You are a fool who does not belong to this era. I hope you can help me present the image of the person in the photo just now."
Soon, Klein felt his left hand move strangely, as if it was possessed by a ghost. He grasped the pencil placed aside with a smooth movement, and touched the paper with messy handwriting on the corner of the table.
He quickly sketched out the rough outline of the portrait.
In just over twenty seconds, with a gentle rustling sound, the image of "Patrick" just seen in the photo appeared on the page.
After doing all this, Klein did not directly extinguish the candles. He just packed up the rest of the ritual items and took advantage of the last light of the candlelight to quickly remove the citrine pendulum wrapped around his wrist.
Silently read:
"Patrick is Lanervus in disguise."
"Patrick is Lanervus in disguise."
...
After reciting silently seven times, the citrine pendant that was still in mid-air suddenly started to rotate, trying to swing violently in the clockwise direction, but it only lasted for a few seconds before the result changed. It seemed to be caught in some kind of puzzle and suddenly stopped.
After he made a move and thought for a while, he slowly moved his body in the opposite direction, moving uncertainly.
What does this mean? Is Patrick Lanrewus?
Or is it that he is not simply Lanerwus now?
Klein's brows were almost locked together, his lips were pursed and turned slightly white.
Suddenly, his right hand holding the pendulum began to tremble for no reason. No matter how hard he tried to control it, he could not suppress it, and his veins popped out.
He thought of a terrifying possibility.
The "bomb" created by Lanrevus essentially made Megoose pregnant with the heir of the true creator. So what role did he play in this process? The death of Hood Eugen seems to have
Everything has been erased.
However, the real aura of the Creator he encountered during his channeling, the Beyonders lurking near the dock union, and the surveillance all pushed Klein to gradually develop a bold conjecture.
Lanruth still carries part of the aura of the true Creator.
Snap.
The crystal yellow crystal fell on the desk and rolled around. Klein's still trembling right hand slowly raised and touched his cheek, feeling wet.
Under the icy blue eyes, a tear slipped quietly and accumulated in the gap between the back of the hand and the cheek, without any light reflection.
............
"Old man, why did the church suddenly step up the training of red glove candidates?" Inside the Quiet Church in Winter County, Leonard walked quickly in a quiet and deserted corridor, his voice inaudible.
He changed his usual lazy look, buttoned up his formal suit properly, and his lips were almost buried in the collar.
"How do I know? I'm just an old man whose movements are restricted and can only live with little ghosts. How could I guess what your senior leaders of the Church of the Night mean." The old voice sounded in Leonard's head, seemingly
Weaker than usual.
This is the kingdom of God on earth that was once the goddess of the night. Even in the Fourth Age when Zoropast was still recognized as a noble, it was not a place that he would enter freely.
On the contrary, this is the first time He has entered this church, which exudes tranquility everywhere.
Unable to get an answer, Leonard subconsciously clicked his tongue. Feeling the cold wind pouring in from the corridor window, he unconsciously quickened his steps and his tone became a little anxious.
"But what if it's about Ince Zangwill's actions? I can't just stay in the church and wait for the other deacons and bishops to bring that bastard's head back."
As he spoke, he unconsciously clenched his fists in his pockets, his green eyes darkening.
"Oh, have you forgotten what I told you? You will never be qualified to face Zangwill until you reach the level of demigod. You have just been promoted to a 'Nightmare', and you have not even completely gotten rid of the potion.
Influence."
"Think about your captain. If you don't want to practice acting, getting lost in a dream and being unable to distinguish reality is the final outcome of most 'nightmares'." The old voice scolded his parasitic target mercilessly, trying to dissuade him from leading him.
The thought of committing suicide by oneself.
Are you kidding me? That ex-colleague of the boy has a "secret" aura about him. Judging from the aura that the boy felt when he went to the cemetery to say goodbye for the last time, it seemed that the boy didn't want to see Ince Zangwill continue to exist.
in this world.
When he appears in front of that person now, is he planning to give a gift?
On the surface of Leonard's spiritual body, a bright golden ball of light floated silently in the shallow ocean of spirituality. The constantly flashing light seemed to hint at his thoughts.
In fact, it is not impossible. If that person can successfully return to His throne, it is not difficult to accept that he surrenders voluntarily and deprives Amon of the "uniqueness" and sequence-one characteristics.
After all, he didn't think that person would kill Amon.
In the dark corridor, Leonard, whose shortcomings were sharply pointed out, no longer tried to communicate. His slender and thick eyelashes drooped downwards, completely covering the green area behind him, and his pace was still fast.
Next is a course on some high-sequence knowledge, on the second floor of the church basement... Leonard, whose thoughts were still uneasy, forcibly diverted his attention, shook his still unruly black hair, thought for a moment, and turned into
down the corridor.
The tall figure gradually disappeared into the darkness, and the deep corridor returned to silent silence again.
Suddenly, the darkness next to the thin light trembled. A beautiful-looking woman with black hair and black eyes, wearing a black women's suit and a simple coat, with her hands wrapped in red gloves, appeared little by little at the entrance of the corridor.
His gaze is profound.
She stared at the darkness below, nodded coldly, and then disappeared again.
............
Suburbs of Tingen, Raphael Cemetery.
Frye, who had black hair, blue eyes and a straight nose, held a lantern in one hand and a paper bag in the other hand, scanning the empty and deserted cemetery. The cold aura on his body almost blended with the lifeless cemetery itself.
In the spiritual vision of the "corpse collector", there is almost no trace of spirituality left in the corpses that have been purified by the church personnel. As dusk approaches, Frye walks in the cemetery at this time, as if he has come to the autumn maple forest that has withered away.
Although he is quiet and beautiful, it is difficult for him to mention his nature because he has lost the aura of the undead itself.
A final inspection found nothing. The fair-skinned Frye, who had always seemed very cold and cold, did not go directly to the gate, but silently walked in another direction of the cemetery, step by step.
Under the dusk of the setting sun, he slowly pulled out bunches of pure white lilies from the paper bag in his hand, gently decorated them in front of three tombstones that were not covered with much dust, and took away the dried bouquets.
On a distant bare branch, a completely black crow watched all this silently, its vermilion eyes mechanically dull, as if it had died long ago, like a puppet.