Dr. Clay was a slightly older man, but not yet fifty years old. He was somewhat plump, but had managed to keep himself just at the limit of “obesity.”
However, he was completely bald and thus wore a very obvious brown wig, which inevitably drew one’s gaze upwards during conversations.
“Dr. Schneider won’t be back today for sure?”
Shard Hamilton confirmed unwillingly, holding his cat. The orange cat, Mia, seemed never to have been to such an environment before and was now looking around curiously.
“Yes, the count’s butler has already explained the time needed for this house call,” the doctor repeated.
“Then do you know Dr. Schneider’s friend, Miss Dorothy Louisa? Do you know where she lives?”
Shard asked again. If he couldn’t find the doctor, then other thaumaturgists in the group would suffice. Concerning a statue of an Old God, he needed to find someone who could handle the matter cautiously.
“Yes, I know her. She’s a regular at our clinic, often visiting due to issues with anorexia and insomnia. But I can’t reveal patient information freely,” Dr. Clay said apologetically. Shard understood his request was somewhat unreasonable, so he chose to leave a message for Dr. Schneider.
The statue of an Old God containing remnants of the Old Gods, although not a [Relic], was still quite valuable.
Even though the university advises thaumaturgists against using bizarre items like these to gain the four elements, some professors at St. Byrons Comprehensive University, particularly those with tenure, might write down stories related to the Old Gods in powerful language through these remnants.
This was undoubtedly much safer than Shard being directly influenced by the remnants of the Old God today. So whether he was worried about Lady Lasoya’s intentions or just wanted to make a contribution by reporting the matter, it was necessary to inform Dr. Schneider as soon as possible.
But since the doctor was away, he had to wait patiently. Shard couldn’t directly report this to the church—not because he feared the statue of the Blood Feast Old God would be taken away by the church, but because he didn’t know how to report anonymously.
“But the doctor will be back tomorrow. Waiting one more day shouldn’t matter much,” he thought, holding the cat as he left the doctor’s psychological clinic. But an uneasy feeling lingered inside him, distracting him on the way back to St. Teresa’s Square, nearly causing him to be hit by a carriage at the intersection.
Shard had left home in the morning, but since the task of finding the orange cat went surprisingly smoothly, it was only two in the afternoon when he returned home.
He and Mia had lunch outside, so there was nothing to do at the moment.
Shard placed the cat at home. Mia was quite adaptable to the unfamiliar environment, rolling around on the sofa or exploring different corners of the room.
Shard, on the other hand, detailed the entire process of the cat-finding task in the detective’s ledger and record book, meticulously following the previous detective’s format.
After writing, he flipped through the previous detective’s records, planning to complete the other two simple tasks—finding the runaway girl and looking for the doctor—in the next few days as well.
Thus, by Wednesday, when he received the materials from the university, he would have time to investigate the former detective’s acquaintances, seeking the secrets that Sparrow Hamilton might have hidden.
So Shard spent the afternoon organizing all of the former detective’s belongings and estimating his assets. In the evening, he took the cat out for dinner again. On the way back, he bought some breadsticks from a bakery near the square, along with some milk for breakfast.
Of course, he also didn’t forget to buy high-end cat food. Since he was paid, Shard would seriously take care of the little orange cat.
Thus, within just two days of coming to this world, Shard became a young detective living at the center square of the kingdom’s capital, with a cat and a job.
“Thinking about it this way, my luck isn’t bad at all… except for the lack of money.”
Shard spent the evening continuing his research on [Space-Time] and [Silver Moon]. Due to his contact with the remnants of the Old God today, the accumulated [Miracle] element transformed into more spirit, making the silver glow at his fingertips even brighter.
But it still lacked offensive power, though it was adequate for illumination.
Shard also tested his ability to ignite paper. This power, too, increased due to the accumulated strength. Although the young orange cat was frightened by the heating paper in Shard’s hands, hiding in his arms and unwilling to leave, Shard was quite pleased.
This learning session was interrupted around nine o’clock that night. Shard was sitting in the study, reading the doctor’s notes, puzzled by the doctor’s flowery script, when he heard the bell downstairs ring.
The cat, which had been napping on the desk, jumped under it in fright.
Shard comforted the timid Mia and walked out of the room, heading downstairs to the foyer.
“Could the doctor have returned to the city early and seen my message?”
But it was not. Opening the door, he saw a nervously fidgeting short middle-aged man with yellow hair, wearing a black overcoat. He was a client seeking Sparrow Hamilton, the detective.
Shard’s first official client had arrived.
The man’s name was Raggett Franklin, an accountant living in the western part of Tobesk, employed at “Hunter & Laura’s Textile Mill.” It wasn’t his first time here to hire the detective, and he was familiar with Sparrow Hamilton. So, after being invited in and served tea, he was shocked to learn about the previous detective’s death.
“Sudden illness, without proper treatment.”
That was the explanation the former detective gave for his death. Given the underdeveloped medical practices of this era, where doctors were just moving away from practices like “bloodletting” and “purging,” sudden illnesses leading to death were not uncommon.
“I’m the detective’s nephew from his homeland, inheriting this detective agency. Uncle Sparrow entrusted this place to me before his death,” Shard introduced, recounting the identity the former detective had fabricated for him. Seeing that Franklin believed him, he asked,
“Though Uncle Sparrow is gone, I can also handle cases at a cheaper rate. So, what brings you here at this late hour?”
Whether moved by Shard’s sincerity or the promise of a “cheaper rate,” the middle-aged accountant hesitated before sharing his story.
Though living in the capital, the Franklin family was quite ordinary among the residents of this northern jewel of the old continent. Mr. Franklin, as the husband, earned a living as an accountant, while Mrs. Franklin worked as a scribe at a nearby private library.
Their only child, young Franklin, was their biggest worry. He had been well-behaved initially but had fallen in with bad company on the streets. He spent his days with them and gradually developed a gambling habit, frequenting nighttime clubs and underground casinos, and stealing family money to squander.
Mr. Franklin had visited the detective twice before. The first time was to find young Franklin, who had been missing for three days, eventually locating him in an underground casino in the northern slums. The second time was to retrieve young Franklin from the “Lucky Southern Cross Club,” where he had stayed for three days.
That club primarily sold liquor but turned into an underground casino at night.