She is not an investigator.

Of course she knew.

She knows better than anyone else.

She even knew that Igris could pick up several girls no matter where she went.

"Santa Claus won't grant your wishes."

The caretaker ruthlessly shattered Igris's illusions and returned to her chair by the fireplace.

She seemed to have no intention of paying attention to Igris anymore, letting Igris do whatever she wanted.

"This is truly...disappointing."

Snapped--

A crisp snap of the fingers rang out, the colors in the room began to fade, and the flickering flames in the fireplace were instantly stilled.

How familiar this scene is.

"Nyarlathotep?"

"It's me, my dear old friend." (Jiulin Lisi Liuqi <+8|Read-Yi)

A figure suddenly jumped out of the Christmas tree. He was wearing a comical red cotton-padded coat, a Santa hat on his head, and even had wool glued to his face to make a beard.

Igris wasn't exactly happy to see him.

嗏

"You're not Santa Claus, are you?"

She actually thought that way.

"No, Santa Claus doesn't exist, but I'm here to give you a present. We're friends, remember?"

He was holding a huge Christmas gift box, which at first glance could easily be mistaken for a bomb.

However, based on Igris's understanding of him and his personality...

Eighty percent of them are indeed bombs.

"Look at your eyes. This isn't a bomb; it's a gift I brought especially for you to fulfill your wish."

He seemed to know what Igris was thinking, and shook his head somewhat disappointedly.

It's rare for Igris to have wronged him; that's truly remarkable.

So what's inside?

Could it be that he actually brought her friends along?

Then put it in this little box?

It feels like something these heartless and insane gods could do.

"It's a bomb."

"Didn't you say it wasn't a bomb?!"

"Tsk tsk tsk, you should have known long ago that I never tell the truth."

Igris was somewhat speechless.

"So, you brought a bomb to see me, are you planning to blow me to bits, or are you going to set off fireworks for me?"

If she could, Igris would prefer the latter.

Although she will most likely be blown into the sky by the fireworks.

"neither."

Unexpectedly, he shook his head, his eyes revealing a hint of disdain for Igris's idea.

Indeed, it's not surprising that such a trick would be used on him.

"so…?"

"There's a bomb in here that could kill you. Oh, I didn't come here to kill you... but have you ever thought about giving yourself a funeral?"

Seeing his sinister smile, Igris decisively shook her head.

"No."

"Oh my god, please! Give me some face, I've been planning this for ages, it's going to be really interesting... all your friends will be there for your funeral, and then... *smack*! You just jump right out of the coffin, their expressions will be absolutely priceless."

This guy always comes up with some amazing and ingenious ideas.

But I must say...

That's really interesting.

"make a deal."

Final Volume – The Death of the Investigator: Chapter Two, Waiting and Expectation

On that Christmas Eve, many of Igris's friends received devastating news.

Igris is dead.

The news spread rapidly, like a virus, throughout cities and even small towns.

Whether it was Molkens, who had a rare peaceful night, or Byanka, the witch city where the little witches were on holiday, or even some people on missions at the edge of the world, they all received this terrible news.

Igris is dead.

The cause of death was pneumonia.

It was probably because she always liked to play with fire that she inhaled a lot of harmful gases, which eventually led to her lung disease.

No one would believe such a claim.

After all, Igris was a legendary figure who could roast herself out of the fire with only half her body.

But this news also left everyone confused.

So, who sent this message?

Some people saw it in the newspaper, some saw it on the feet of pigeons, and some dreamed about it in their erotic dreams.

But without prior arrangement, people began heading towards the funeral destination, the place where Igris was buried, the Theos Manor.

In that remote, uninhabited manor on the frontier, there are many tombstones, among which is the tombstone of the only remaining owner of the manor, Igris.

Perhaps this is a rare opportunity for this place to become lively.

Although the people under the tombstone might accuse Igris of disturbing the peace.

But who can hear the complaints of the dead?

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

On the bumpy dirt road, the noble and luxurious carriage was making its difficult journey.

Night had fallen, and because of the bumpy ride, the coachman could only hold the reins with one hand and hold up a lantern with the other to light the way ahead.

This was indeed a lot of work for him, but when he thought about his weekly salary of a whole gold coin, it didn't seem like there was anything difficult about it.

This amount of money is enough for him to buy himself a car.

Although he still didn't know why his young lady would suddenly drive to such a godforsaken place so late at night.

Even...extremely anxious.

"Can it go any faster?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Olivia, but in these conditions, the current speed is already our limit. If we go any faster, the carriage will likely fall apart."

Hearing this, Olivia could only shut her mouth helplessly, silently lower her head, and look at her toes.

She was indeed very anxious, especially after hearing that Igris had died.

She was supposed to attend an important banquet, where she could also discuss the price of the land she had her eye on, as well as some potential collaborations.

However, it is clear that Igris has completely disrupted her plans.

But she wouldn't blame Igris.

She would only blame herself for not staying by Igris's side more often.

"…well."

The silent sigh was a testament to her anxiety and worry. She knew that Igris shouldn't have died so easily, but for her, just hearing the news was enough to send shivers down her spine.

The wait to reach the destination always seems exceptionally long.

The rugged and narrow road made it impossible for her to even drive there herself.

Perhaps... all she can do now is wait patiently.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

If anyone was the first to learn of Igris's death, it was undoubtedly Krentia.

Although she was far away in her castle in the Black Forest, her pigeon companions brought her a surprise right away.

Perhaps it could also be described as shock.

After Igris gave up on seizing that secret treasure, Krentia's life... that is, the witch's life, returned to its former peace for once.

The princess died, which is nothing to say, because that was her lifelong wish, and she had no other attachment to the real world.

So the witch will continue to live, carrying with her heart that belongs to her, yet does not.

Her heart probably stopped beating by the time she saw the letter.

When she woke up, her pigeon friends were pecking at her face.

She fainted because she couldn't accept the letter's absurdity.

However, the witch likely has extra resistance to dizziness, so she only lay on the floor for less than half a minute before waking up.

He then picked up his wooden cane.

"I'm going to find her."

The witch was talking to herself in the empty castle, perhaps also to her only pigeon friend.

The pigeon shook its wings and cooed once.