---

With the signal from the director, the researcher-clad Objects charged in.

Their expressions and movements, lacking any motivation, made them appear even more grotesque.

They moved in a zombie-like fashion, several times worse than the camp residents.

Unenthusiastically and carelessly, they staggered towards us in a straight line.

Some were missing limbs and bleeding profusely, yet they still rushed forward like zombies.

I braced myself for impact, conscious of the blood pooling and making the floor slick.

It started with Junior No. 2.

Bang! Bang!

With the sound of two gunshots, two researchers fell.

Their heads exploded as they collapsed on the floor, but new researchers took their place instantly.

Junior No. 1 and I took up positions to guard the client and Junior No. 2.

These were the researchers who had exterminated ninjas.

Winning this fight would be tough.

I had to find a clever way to stall and navigate this situation.

Boom!

With a loud noise, a researcher with limbs twisted all out of shape was sent flying.

The flying researcher knocked down others that were attempting to come in like bowling pins.

After a few minutes of fighting,

Junior No. 1, who had been bowling with humans, suddenly gasped.

“Ah!”

“What’s wrong?”

I asked, swinging Watson with all my might.

“These researchers, they keep moving even after their heads are blown off.”

Following the gaze of my junior, I saw researchers with blown-off heads slowly rising up.

What? Not even a Dullahan? What’s going on here?

Do we have to completely crush their limbs to stop them from moving?

Only Junior No. 1 could handle such a task…

If Junior No. 1 handled them one by one like that, their stamina would run out first.

Meow.

The object cat perched on the client’s shoulder let out a small, anxious mewl.

“Senior! Do something!”

We were gradually tiring and were being pushed back.

Unlike the fake zombies we had seen at the camp, these researchers were genuine monsters that kept rushing until they couldn’t move anymore.

Junior No. 1 was visibly fatigued, panting as the ammo ran out, and Junior No. 2 began fighting with two hammers.

If we didn’t find a way to buy time, we were in big trouble.

I raised Watson high and called out,

“Watson, protect us.”

“Watson, protect us.”

“Watson, protect us.”

A plume of smoke began to waft from the gas lamp, wrapping around our party.

The ominous blood-red smoke pushed the researchers back with a physical force, creating an empty space.

The researchers attacked, trying to push through the smoke, but the smoke didn’t budge.

“Ugh, I’m going to die.”

Junior No. 1 crouched down, using the hammer to support himself.

The bright light of the gas lamp cast bizarre shadows through the smoke.

It was ‘Watson.’

Watson, chuckling in the shadows, started to write words in the smoke.

[Long time no see, Holmes.]

[You’ve already used your second chance?]

[This request doesn’t seem easy either.]

[Am I dying this time?]

[Protection lasts only for 10 minutes.]

[There are many interesting objects here.]

Watson was still a distraction.

I clapped my hands to draw attention and then spoke.

“Take a break for a bit. I need to figure out a way to get us out of this situation.”

I approached the shadow cast by Watson beyond the smoke and called out.

“Watson!”

The sound of chuckling resonated from the lamp in my hand.

And in response to my words, numerous strings appeared and disappeared above the smoke.

[What’s wrong, Holmes?]

[Why?]

[There’s only one wish left.]

[Aren’t you going to fail this time?]

To complete the current request, I had no choice but to borrow Watson’s power.

The criteria for Watson’s assistance were ambiguous, but I could at least roughly understand them now.

The standard was ‘trial.’

If helping still left ‘appropriate’ trials for Holmes, Watson could offer quite direct support.

In other words, I couldn’t request to bring the client’s younger brother or ask to kill the director.

First, I posed a question to Watson.

“Watson! Is it okay to request to kill the director?”

The laughter coming from the gas lamp stopped.

[That’s impossible.]

[Isn’t that cheating?]

[It is cheating!]

[But it’s impossible.]

[Killing an Object isn’t our domain.]

[In fact, we don’t even know how to kill.]

[Leave that for Holmes to handle!]

[Why not ask for something else instead?]

Of course, Watson’s negative response was expected, but impossible?

That was a surprise.

Watson, who usually handled objects with ease, was now sounding weak…

That meant the director was quite a troublesome object.

Just looking at him standing there with blades embedded all over his body didn’t seem right.

So, what kind of help could get us out of this situation?

Just then, a phrase reflecting in my monocle clicked in my mind.

[As long as the director exists, owns the researchers.]

[As long as the research isn’t finished, the director regenerates.]

[Until the wish is fulfilled, the research will not end.]

Unless I had omitted a crucial detail from my monocle, fulfilling the wish would stop regeneration and make the researchers disappear.

“Watson! Then, how about revealing the director’s wish?”

The laughter from the gas lamp started up again.

[Are you really going with that?]

[Yes, that sounds good.]

[We exist to hear wishes, see wishes, and fulfill wishes.]

[It’s simple.]

[Are you trying to make that your final wish?]

[Easy.]

[I think it’s okay to tell you.]

Seeing Watson’s reaction, I asked.

“Watson, tell me the director’s wish!”

“Watson, tell me the director’s wish!”

“Watson, tell me the director’s wish!”

Upon hearing my words, Watson’s shadow descended and approached me.

[This can’t be heard by the director, so I’ll let you know just a bit.]

[Get the gas lamp close to your ear!]

[Closer. A bit closer.]

As I brought the glowing gas lamp close to my ear, I heard voices that seemed to be whispering from different people.

“The director’s yearning is to know the origin of the Objects.”

“If he knows the origin, he will lose his power.”

“But the fact that he even wants that is something he has likely forgotten, so it won’t be easy.”

“Is Holmes going to fail this time?”

“Holmes is going to die now!”

We’re done for.

That was the thought that crossed my mind the moment I heard Watson’s response.

It was information I couldn’t figure out or deal with right now.

The veil Watson had created felt like it might collapse at any moment, and my junior’s anxious gazes were piercing into my back.

This was critical.

If I ran away now, Watson would kill me, and I was stuck in a situation where solutions were not visible.

Should I tell the juniors to escape behind me?

Just then, a cat’s cry rang out.

Meow!!!

An incredulously loud sound for a small kitten.

The mewling sounded urgent, filled with desperation just from hearing it.

Meow!!

It felt like a cry from someone desperately searching for someone.

*

As I exited the room, following the sound of the cat, I found a long corridor.

The end of the corridor, stained with blood, concrete soaked in blood, and rusty iron doors lined up on both sides.

Meow!

Using the distant sound of the cat’s meow as a guide, I pressed forward.

Meow!!

Hearing the cat’s cry made me think I was getting closer to it, didn’t it?

Just as this thought crossed my mind, researchers blocking my path appeared.

A dreadful stench of blood.

These were the researchers managing the torture chamber.

They looked like humans but were not human.

Hazy figures connected from the shadows.

They appeared to be servants of something bound by shadows.

Even though the researchers stood in my way, the atmosphere felt strange.

Their expressions showed no motivation whatsoever.

They didn’t seem to think they could stop me.

I felt a strong intention to simply stall for time.

There were many researchers, and it would have taken a lot of time to handle them all one by one.

But now I had the Golden Reapers!

The Golden Reaper popped out from below my feet.

The Golden Reapers that sprang from the Golden Reaper garden popped out with bright smiles but quickly became somber.

Was it the horrible smell of blood in the basement that made them gloomy?

Or did they seem angry as if they were disgusted by such a place?

The Golden Reapers’ first target was the researcher-objects emanating the smell of blood.

Wielding torture devices caked in clotted blood, the researchers facing me encountered the wrath of the Golden Reapers.

The researchers did not die easily, but they were not in any shape to move with the numerous holes caused by the Golden Reapers.

Once all the researchers were dealt with, the Golden Reapers scattered hurriedly in different directions.

What are they doing now?

The scattered Golden Reapers moved around as if searching for something.

From above the lights to the corners of the corridor, the Golden Reapers were bouncing around.

What on earth were they doing?

When I opened a door in the corridor and looked inside, I found the scattered Golden Reapers within that room.

The room was a torture chamber with a torture chair in the center, where a victim was left in a terrible state.

And the Golden Reapers clung to that corpse.

Slap, slap.

They patted the blood-soaked face of the corpse with their small palms, shedding golden tears and wailing.

It looked like they were wide-mouthed and howling, but since they had no lungs, no sound came out.

I knew that feeling well; it’s frustrating when you’re sad but can’t make a sound.

Though unspoken, I could feel that sentiment.

Were the Golden Reapers feeling the pain of the tortured victims?

The Golden Reapers pushed and pulled the cheeks, lifting the eyelids, as if silently urging the eyes to open.

When I stepped outside that room, I found a more enraged assembly of Reapers gathered.

Meow!

I moved towards the sound of the ghost cat’s meow, which echoed quite closely.

Along with the angry Golden Reapers!

 

---