I'm a proper student; I only take nine kinds of potions every day.

Chapter 109 Hill's Family Dilemma

Evan and Gray teased Black's distorted face for a while. After they had laughed enough, Evan stopped laughing and gestured in the air with his hand.

"Brother Gray, when I was chasing that monster in the pipes just now, I saw a symbol on it—a black sun. Do you know what that means?"

Gray paused, his cigar dangling from his lips, and stroked his chin as he thought for a moment.

"A black sun?" he muttered twice, his brows furrowing.

"Putting these two words together is blasphemous. The sun itself is a symbol of light and holiness, so adding black to it just doesn't sound right."

Then he shook his head.

"I've never seen this before. I'll check the records for you later."

Ivan responded with an "oh" and changed the subject.

"What symptoms are your colleague who was poisoned before now?"

Gray's expression darkened, and the cigar stopped twirling at the corner of his mouth.

"He seems to be under some kind of curse; his body has mutated."

He spoke with a sorrowful voice.

"The two arms were twisted like two chicken wings, the muscles were abnormal, the bones were deformed, and the whole arm was bent at an angle that does not belong to the normal human body."

"He said that his arms no longer felt like his own; they felt like they had been ripped off from another creature and forcibly sewn onto his shoulders."

He clenched his fists, a deep sense of powerlessness washing over him.

"I've been working with him for six years, sigh!"

A sigh filled with sorrow.

Evan could tell that the relationship between the two was not that of ordinary colleagues.

Six years of partnership—in this industry, that's a life-or-death bond.

He wanted to suggest that he go and see the person, as the copper plague might be of some help, but as soon as he was about to speak, he suddenly remembered something.

That person is now staying in the hospital of the Healing Church.

Ivan swallowed back the words that were about to come out.

"Forget it, I'd better avoid contact with the Healing Church's supernatural organizations for now."

After several encounters, he had gleaned some information from the enemy's words and tactics.

The copper-like properties seem to be kept secret and strictly monopolized by the Healing Church.

Although the copper plague on his body differed from the copperization of the church, the similarity in appearance was enough to attract unnecessary attention.

Before figuring out the healing church's attitude towards you, proceed with caution.

At that moment, Evan suddenly remembered that Elton's copper-plated security guards had not disappeared with his death.

This indicates that the copper core is not on him.

Think of those nuns handing out copper pills on the street —

"Could it be that the Healing Church produces bronze statues to sell to capitalists as security guards!?"

The atmosphere grew somber as they pondered, and the two didn't say anything more afterward.

The wheels of the carriage rolled over the cobblestone road, making a monotonous clattering sound.

The street scene outside the window gradually changed from the desolation of the suburbs to the hustle and bustle of the city.

When the carriage stopped in front of the police station's side gate, the two got off and returned to the side hall through the familiar corridor.

Evan produced his University of Michigan investigator certificate, signed the case logbook to confirm his participation.

Gray calculated the salary and said, "It's ten dollars and forty-two cents in total. Do you have a bank account? I can transfer it to you directly in a few days."

He rubbed his hands together, a hint of apology on his face.

"Brother, there's nothing we can do. The higher-ups want us to solve the problem while also catching the aberration. We solved the problem, but the thing got away."

"I could have earned forty dollars."

Evan wrote his account number at First National Bank of Bolton on the information sheet and handed it over with a smile.

"That's quite a lot. Don't forget to call me if you have similar tasks in the future."

He's already made a fortune on this trip.

Gray took the note, looked at Evan's carefree smile, and couldn't help but sigh.

"I really envy your mindset."

He would feel bad for a while if his performance bonus was deducted by a few dozen cents, and when he got home he would have to explain to his wife, who was unaware of the situation, why he was short half a bottle of whiskey this month.

The young man in front of me, having lost thirty dollars, didn't even flinch.

Evan found a damp towel in the police station's restroom and wiped the dust and cobwebs off his face and clothes.

He straightened his collar in front of the blurry tin mirror and put his newsboy cap back on.

After saying goodbye to Gray, he hopped on a tram heading towards the city center.

The location of McCrae Detective Agency is quite good.

It is located on a side street on the south side of the city center, surrounded by three- or four-story commercial buildings.

Red brick exterior walls, cast iron balcony railings, and various goods displayed in the shop windows on the ground floor.

An independent firm of this size is not small in Bolton City these days.

The first floor is a barbershop.

Through the glass door, you can see that the floor inside is covered with black and white checkered tiles, and several gentlemen are sitting in barber chairs getting their faces shaved, with the barbers rubbing their razors back and forth on the leather sharpening belt.

The guests coming and going were well-dressed and generally belonged to the middle class or above.

The second floor houses a small newspaper office.

The hallway outside was plastered with all sorts of colorful posters and calls for papers, and a few young reporters with notebooks were smoking and chatting by the door.

The people coming down from the third floor looked completely different from those on the first two floors.

The men and women all had ashen faces.

He was clutching some documents or photos, his fists trembling.

Some people had red eyes, some gritted their teeth, and some had a look on their faces that said, "I want to kill."

After coming down from the third floor, they almost seamlessly turned into the newspaper office on the second floor.

The supply chain is now closed!

Ivan silently admired Mr. McCrae's business acumen before heading up to the third floor against the flow of people.

The third floor is a spacious reception hall with dark brown oak floors, several inexpensive landscape paintings hanging on the walls, and a row of benches against the wall.

There were only two or three people sitting in the waiting area, all with their heads down and lost in their own thoughts.

Directly in front of you is a semi-circular reception desk, behind which sits a slightly plump middle-aged woman who looks capable and honest.

"Welcome to McCree Detective Agency. How may I help you?"

Behind the reception desk were three offices side by side, all with their doors closed.

A series of hushed voices drifted through the crack in the door; to the average person, they were just muffled buzzing syllables.

But Evan is no ordinary person.

He smiled, stepped forward, took the business card out of his pocket, and handed it to him.

"Mr. McCrae invited me to come and help."

The middle-aged woman took the business card, glanced at Evan, and then turned and called out towards the corner of the hall.

"Tom, is that him?"

A robust young man in the corner turned his head.

The moment he saw Ivan, his face, which had been relatively normal, instantly lost all color. His lips moved, but he couldn't say anything; he just nodded stiffly.

Ivan knew this guy.

The last time LeBon's father sent someone to investigate him, it was this man who was stepped on by Evan, and his leather shoe was ruined on the spot.

The man let out a scream that sounded exactly like Talking Tom.

This name suits him very well.

Ivan smiled at him in a friendly manner.

Tom immediately turned his face back.

The middle-aged woman, oblivious to these details, smiled and said, "Please wait a moment, Mr. McCray is discussing business."

Evan nodded, walked to the bench against the wall, leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes.

But his ears were not idle.

The superhuman hearing granted by his 11.6 physique made the conversations in those three offices so clear and distinct.

In the first office, a man's voice was low, but every word was filled with gritted teeth and hatred.

"I'm going to beat that bitch to death! And her lover, that bastard, he actually slept in the bed I bought and used the pillow I bought."

In the second room.

A young man's voice, filled with an almost pleading urgency and longing.

"Please! Help me find out about that actress named Jane. Who is her boyfriend? Where does she live? When is she not home? I just want to know these things, I won't do anything out of line."

In the third room.

Evan pricked up his ears, wanting to hear how skilled McCree was.

Then he heard McCrae's voice, with a professional gentleness and a helpless sigh.

"Sir, Madam, you don't even trust your own daughter?"

A middle-aged man's deep voice rang out, his tone carrying a unique air of high society.

"It's not that I don't believe her, it's just that she's too strange."

"She's already in her twenties, hasn't learned any of the manners or skills expected of a lady, and is extremely opposed to the marriage we've arranged for her."

"She would rather not have our living expenses and move out."

"I'd rather suffer in that shabby library than become a respectable noblewoman."

Then a woman's voice spoke, filled with anxiety and anger.

"Sir, if that's all there is to it, then we can barely accept it."

"But our Hill, she sneaks out every night! A few times her colleagues have seen her, saying she's wearing a white wig and dressed up like a prostitute!"

"A young woman of marriageable age goes out alone every night! And she even wears a wig! God Father!"

"We hope she will keep a clean reputation and not bring shame to the Adolf family."

"We hope you can help us find out what she is doing."

"We can give you four dollars a day for the survey."

McCrae responded calmly, "Alright then! This isn't an easy job. Please pay a twenty-dollar deposit first."

Ivan leaned against the wall, his eyes closed, but his pupils rolled twice.

"I never expected that!"

He sighed silently to himself.

"My dear senior sister is usually so dashing and carefree, I never expected her family to be in such a mess."

The white wig was actually Hill's silver hair in her Witcher form.

Her parents took her superhuman combat form as evidence that their daughter was having affairs.

Her parents were apparently unaware of her Witcher identity.

"Since I've run into them, I might as well go find my senior sister and get to know her better later."

"Also, have her contact her senior brother. I killed that factory owner, so we need to let him know."

As I was pondering, the door to the third office opened.

A well-dressed middle-aged couple came out.

The man was wearing a dark top hat with the brim pulled low, obscuring most of his face.

The dark gray cashmere coat was impeccably tailored, with a discreet silver brooch pinned to the collar, which made Evan's scalp tingle.

As the two passed by Ivan, he glanced at them with half-open eyes.

The woman's jawline, that curve, is exactly the same as Hill's.

The man's nose and eyes were high and deep, quite similar to Hill's.

It's basically confirmed!

"So the Witcher tradition wasn't passed down in my senior sister's family after all." Evan noted this information down his mind.

"She chose this path on her own, without her family knowing anything about it."

The couple walked down the stairs and disappeared around the corner.

A few seconds later, the door to the third office opened again.

A man in his early forties strode out; it was McCree.

After listening to the woman at the front desk whisper a few words, a big smile immediately spread across his face, and he strode towards Evan.

"Godfather, Mr. Arkham! You've finally come!"

As he spoke, he opened his arms and gave Evan a tight hug.

Ivan was somewhat taken aback by the scene and peeked out from the other person's embrace.

"Am I that popular?"

McCree released his grip and said in a low voice.

"I'm quite well-informed."

His eyes shone with genuine admiration.

"I know about what happened in New Haven, and about your bravery back then."

He gave a thumbs up.

"Well done!"

His tone became more serious.

"I've handled a few cases where the parents of poor girls came to me asking me to investigate the Phoenix Brotherhood."

He shook his head, a bitter look rising in his eyes.

"Unfortunately, I don't have the courage or the ability. Listening to those parents' complaints and seeing those photos and evidence, there's nothing I can do."

"I can only return the investigation fee and tell them that I can't take on this case."

He looked up and stared straight at Evan.

"But you, my friend."

"You are the real hero."

After hearing these words, Ivan straightened his chest, raised his chin slightly, and accepted the praise as a matter of course.

"Mr. McCree!"

He slapped the other man on the shoulder with such force that the middle-aged detective stumbled half a step.

"I feel our collaboration will be very pleasant!"

"Wow! This young man!"

McCree rubbed his shoulder, his face showing both excitement and bitterness.

"Arkham, take it easy when you shoot me next time. I'm getting old, my bones are brittle."

Evan smiled brightly, muttering to himself, "I've already kept it."

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