You said you were going to make games, how did you become the richest man without doing anything?

Her name is Dowa.

Sherlock had certainly heard of it.

Among the three major subhuman gangs in the slums, the werewolf clan is known for its coexistence of violence and order. And Dowa is the queen of this pack of beasts.

It is said that she not only controls the entire gambling network in the slums, but also has connections with several nobles in the capital, and even has people within the government speaking on her behalf. Although she is a demi-human, she is almost equivalent to one of the female protagonists of the dungeon.

"That's enough." Sherlock sighed, looking at the group of werewolves who had broken down the door. "One after another, big shots from the underworld are coming to our door."

He stood in the center of the treatment center, his clothes slightly fluttering, his tone so calm that it didn't seem like he was facing an intruder, but rather like he was responding to a visiting guest.

“Although we’re closed for the day, I can still help if there are any patients in critical condition.” He paused, glancing at Duowa, “but…”

“The patient is right here.” Dova’s voice was icy cold.

She slowly stepped forward, her gray eyes coldly fixed on him, then raised her right hand, the sharp claws at the tips of her five fingers gleaming coldly in the candlelight, pointing directly at Sherlock's forehead.

"Sherlock, that person is you."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow: "...What do you mean?"

"What exactly did you do to Fina's men?"

"Treatment, of course," he replied matter-of-factly.

“Don’t play dumb.” Dova gritted her teeth, her voice low. “No matter how I have my men deal with Fina’s people, they always recover quickly. This makes me very uneasy.”

She narrowed her eyes, a sinister smile curling at the corner of her mouth.

"So I sent people to follow them, and that's how they found you."

“Sherlock.” She approached slowly, her voice as deep as the night. “It seems you are a skilled healer.”

“No, that’s not true.” Sherlock shrugged. “I don’t have a license. I’m just an ordinary unlicensed healer.”

"Dova wants to kill you."

"Are you listening to me?"

"That way, no one can heal Fina's men, and Dova will be able to defeat her."

"Hey, are you listening to me?"

G-chan was laughing hysterically in the live stream: "This conversation is exactly how I feel when I argue with my mom... 'Have you eaten?' 'Why did you do so badly on the test?'"

Sherlock: I'm not a doctor, I'm just a lodger.

[Duowa: You're not allowed to save people, or I'll chop you up!]

[Are the werewolf ears just for decoration? I haven't heard a thing in all those sentences.]

It seems Sherlock has gotten used to this kind of madman.

Before Sherlock could finish his rant, the axe came hurtling through the air.

That was a battle axe that Dova had forged herself, with a broad blade covered in silver runes. Once it was swung down, the air seemed to be torn apart, and sparks flashed between the blade and Sherlock.

The next second—

The axe stopped above his neck, sparks flying from the impact, but it left no mark on his skin.

Dova was stunned.

"Why didn't your head fly off?"

Sherlock patted his shoulder helplessly: "You really don't listen to anyone."

He turned to Fufu and said, "Fufu, you should quickly hide in the room inside."

"Ah, okay, okay!" Fufu nodded hurriedly, picked up the teapot and rushed into the back room.

Sherlock stood still, his gaze calm.

He had already cast protective magic on himself.

That was the only thing he could do in Louis's team.

Every time he was used as bait and thrown into a horde of monsters; every time he was forced to sleep outside the campfire at night; every time his body was beaten black and blue... if he hadn't learned to protect himself, he would have died long ago.

"How is this possible?" Dova took a step back in disbelief. "Dova's axe couldn't hurt you at all?"

Her men also began to waver, cold sweat beading on their foreheads.

They brandished axes and charged at Sherlock in waves.

The axe blades fell, sparks flew, and roars were deafening. The werewolves' fangs gleamed coldly in the candlelight, but no matter how hard they fought, Sherlock remained unharmed.

Like a statue standing in the eye of a storm.

"Hey...have you chopped enough?" Sherlock sighed.

"It's...not enough!" Dova gasped, her eyes filled with madness.

"There's no other way, guys, tear this house down!"

"Yes, sir!"

The werewolves roared and turned to chop at the walls and furniture with their axes. Wood chips flew everywhere, a dining table was split in two, a medicine shelf crashed to the ground, bottles and jars shattered everywhere, and the air was filled with the mixed smell of herbs and dust.

“Hey, I advise you not to do that,” Sherlock whispered a reminder.

"Hahaha!" Dova laughed wildly, "Since I can't kill you, then I'll destroy this treatment center! This is what happens when you underestimate us werewolves!"

Sherlock shrugged: "Sigh... I'm just a tenant staying here anyway, I'm not responsible for the consequences."

"What?"

In an instant, the air temperature plummeted, and a chill spread like a tide.

The werewolves paused in their movements.

A chilling aura silently enveloped the entire room, causing even the torch flames to tremble.

"babble……!"

They finally saw a figure standing against the wall deep inside the house.

It was a long-haired woman, almost completely blending into the night. Her eyes were as black as ink, as if an abyss were gazing upon all living beings, and her figure slowly expanded in the darkness, as if transforming from human form into some enormous, terrifying being.

A strange smile curled at the corner of her lips.

"It's...it's a necromancer! A necromancer has appeared!"

The werewolves' faces turned deathly pale instantly.

“Miss Ophelia,” Sherlock turned his head, his tone still calm, “they smashed your house.”

The Undead King Ophelia slowly lowered her head, her eyes filled with an indescribable chill.

"I originally intended to wait until you finished your tea before taking action."

The next second, black mist surged, and the aura of the dead swept through the entire treatment center like a tidal wave.

……

"A necromancer! It's a necromancer—run!!"

It's unclear which werewolf uttered the first cry, but almost instantly, the entire treatment center descended into utter chaos.

The werewolves, who had been so ferocious and roaring with axes just moments before, now screamed like rats burned by fire, frantically rushing towards the exit. But because there were too many of them and they were moving in such a chaotic manner, they pushed and trampled each other, ending up stuck in the door frame, unable to move.

"Hey, hey, hey, you guys are werewolves, why are you blocking the door like hamsters?" G-chan in the live stream couldn't help but complain.

[The wolf's howl turned into a hamster's meow]

[Door: I'm not letting you out today!]

This is true fear domination.

The appearance of the Necromancer King drove a group of werewolves mad.

Sherlock stood in the center of the treatment room, looking at the werewolves whose situation had spiraled out of control, his expression complex.

He had almost forgotten how terrifying undead were to these demi-humans. Fufu had once whispered to him that undead were monsters that meant certain death the moment they were encountered. Ancient legends, the abuse of forbidden arts, the manipulation of the very essence of life—the very existence of undead was enough to plunge living beings into instinctive fear. And now, that fear had taken physical form.

The Undead Queen Ophelia slowly ascended into the air, her long black hair spreading out like ripples on water, her semi-transparent dress fluttering in the air, as if a ghost queen had descended to earth.

She slowly opened her arms, and black mist surged out from behind her like a tide, instantly filling the entire room.

The magical energy surged so intensely that even Sherlock felt his skin tighten.

"How dare you run wild on my territory... Unforgivable."

Her voice seemed to come from the depths of hell, carrying the whispers of the dead and echoing curses.

"Ughh ...

"Wait, Ophelia."

Sherlock spoke up.

His voice wasn't loud, but it was like a beam of light piercing through the black mist, accurately striking the mind of the Death King.

Ophelia stopped immediately.

She hovered silently in the air, her eyes still cold, as if waiting for an explanation.

“I understand how you feel.” Sherlock looked up at her, his tone gentle yet firm. “I’m also very angry to see the treatment room that I’ve worked so hard to tidy up destroyed.”

“Isn’t this perfect?” Ophelia said with a hint of excitement. “Just let me take these guys’ lives.”

"……no."

Sherlock shook his head.

“Your room is on the second floor. If they try to get to the second floor, you can do whatever you want with them. But the treatment room on the first floor is where lives are saved.”

He stared directly at the undead in the air, his eyes showing no fear, only seriousness.

"I can't let you take my life here."

An eerie silence fell over the air.

Ophelia slowly lowered her head, her gaze as heavy as an abyss, the oppressive aura of death condensing into a tangible force. Sweat beaded on Sherlock's forehead, but he remained ramrod straight.

After a few seconds of stillness, the Death King finally slowly withdrew his magic.

"...Hmph, I agree to your terms. Ugh, this feels so unpleasant."

She turned and flew back upstairs lightly, leaving behind a sentence before she went:
"After all, it's much more comfortable to live here than before."

The temperature in the treatment room finally rose.

The werewolves collapsed to the ground, panting as if they had survived a catastrophe.

“The necromancer… actually obeyed…” Dova sat on the floor, her gray eyes empty, as if her soul had not yet returned.

A moment later, she suddenly knelt down on the ground with a thud.

"...Lord Sherlock, I am so sorry! Dowa never imagined that you were the master of the undead!"

"No, I am not her master—"

“We werewolves are originally the servants of the dwellers of the night, and we are born with a fear of superior races such as the undead and vampires. You are the master of the undead, and we were extremely rude just now.”

"I already told you I'm not her master—"

"What are you all standing there for? Kneel down and apologize! We need to show Lord Sherlock our sincerity!"

"Yes, sir!"

"I forgot this guy can't understand human speech..." Sherlock could only sigh heavily as he was surrounded by a group of werewolves kneeling in a circle, their faces full of reverence.

G-chan was overjoyed: "Hahahaha! This scene is too surreal, the werewolves are all kneeling down like they're giving New Year's greetings!"

Sherlock: I'm not her master, I'm just a tenant.

[Werewolf: Our tenants are all so strong, we werewolves are at your service!]

[“I am not her owner” has become a famous line]

[Sherlock, the landlord of the Undead King, has had his identity revealed]

**
Five days later.

The midday sun shone through the windows into the newly renovated treatment room.

Sherlock sat at the table, flipping through medical records while sipping the black tea brewed by Fufu.

There was a gentle knock on the door, which was then pushed open.

The man who entered was a pig-faced man dressed in the traditional coarse cloth of a half-orc. He was burly and his arms were so thick they looked like they could bend an iron rod.

"You're Sherlock, the unlicensed healer, right?"

“It’s me,” Sherlock nodded.

"Our orc leader, Lady Rhea, requests your presence."

Sherlock was silent for a few seconds, then slowly raised his hand and pressed it against his forehead.

"I knew this would happen..."

Fufu poked her head out from behind the counter: "Sherlock, have you guessed what it is?"

“The lizardmen have come, and the werewolves have come.” Sherlock sighed. “It’s only natural that the orcs will come next.”

"Hmm...this is so complicated." Fufu tilted her head, looking confused.

Sherlock looked at the sunlight outside the window, his expression complex.

This treatment center has been open for less than a month, but it has already been "visited" by the three major subhuman forces in the slums.

This orc leader, Rhea, was a powerful figure who started by mining magic stones and amassed an astonishing fortune in just a few years. Legend has it that her harem was so large that male nobles could line up all over the street.

"I just wanted to run a quiet treatment center..." Sherlock muttered to himself, "Why did it turn out like this?"

……

"By the way, your leader... should be a normal person, right?"

Sherlock asked, turning his head as he tidied up the medicine bottles on the table.

The orcish messenger standing at the door turned a deep purplish-red. Two plumes of white breath billowed from his nostrils, and his four fangs clenched together with a grinding sound.

"You—you are not allowed to insult my mistress! Lady Rhea is a smart and dignified leader, not that kind of...that kind of crazy woman!"

"That's good."

Sherlock let out a soft breath, as if a huge weight had been lifted from his heart.

Since the clinic opened, he has received the leaders of the two major subhuman factions in the slums.

The first one is Fina, the lizard woman.

Every day, she sent various "thank-you gifts": priceless monster materials, loot from ancient ruins, and even wine and spices stolen from noble merchants. The small kitchen in the treatment center was practically turned into a warehouse.

The second one is the werewolf multi-baby.

She not only demanded "compensation" for the damage to the treatment center, but also unilaterally planned to build a "temple to the King of the Dead" on the adjacent vacant lot, claiming it was a "traditional ritual to respect the Lord of the Night." Sherlock, of course, refused on the spot, but she didn't listen at all, only saying "I understand," and then led the construction team to measure the land with a serious expression.

"I clearly said that this is an unlicensed medical facility, and we can't be too high-profile here..."

Sherlock looked out the window at the fenced-off open space and couldn't help but facepalm.

So when he heard that the orc leader, Rhea, was a "sound-headed" normal person, he was genuinely relieved.

"By the way," he said, looking at the messenger, "why didn't she come in person?"

"What a joke!" the orc envoy scoffed. "Lizardmen and werewolves have been appearing frequently in this area lately. Do you think we can just casually bring Lady Rhea into enemy territory?"

"Your grudges have nothing to do with me..." (End of Chapter)