The Great Demon Holmes

Chapter 23: The Potential of Genius

His tone was light, even a bit frustrated that he couldn't light his cigarette.

But... it inexplicably revealed a tremendous arrogance and confidence... in an era where contractees were becoming the pillars of the empire, where the Church and faith maintained the social structure, and where the Holy Light and believers spread throughout every corner of the world.

He, an ordinary mortal without a contract, a commoner from the lower district of London, a private detective whose faith was not that firm, was able to make the High Priest before him pause for a moment.

Shortly after, the admiration in the old priest's eyes didn't wane at all; if anything, it became even stronger. "I will make a phone call to arrange your consecration ceremony."

"Um... isn't it a bit too soon? I'm quite busy recently."

The nonchalant tone made the admiration in the old priest's eyes instantly crumble. He forcefully patted the edge of the bed. "Can you please pay attention to your attitude? I am a High Priest, a clergyman of the Church! Do I need to bow and negotiate with you about this?!"

"Okay, okay." Sherlock hastily nodded with embarrassment.

The High Priest gave him a disdainful glance before regaining the dignity that should befit a clergyman. He spoke slowly, "Also, I am preparing a very good job for you as a thank-you for saving me... The London Security Management Association needs a detective. It is an organization jointly established by the Church and the government, and it usually handles demon invasions and peculiar events. The Church may also assign some tasks to them, and..."

Before he could finish, Sherlock interrupted with a fake smile. "That... I'm really busy recently..."

"This organization has a much higher status than your private detective work. During missions, you will have the full cooperation of the district's law enforcement officers and the police."

Sherlock scratched his nose and looked at a piece of broken stone beneath his feet.

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"Fifteen pounds a month, or sixteen if you don't need accommodation."

"Oh." Sherlock still maintained his nonchalant demeanor.

"And you will have the authority to access all case files in the entire district... If there are any difficult, perplexing, and extraordinary cases from the Church, they will seek your cooperation."

Sherlock finally raised his head. "I can be involved in cases related to the Church?"

"Of course. If your abilities are deemed worthy of attention, you might even encounter some extremely difficult, puzzling, and bizarre cases. As an ordinary detective from the lower district, it would be impossible for you to come across such cases in your entire lifetime..."

The old priest no longer held back and showed a 'I knew you would fall for this' expression.

Sherlock hesitated for a moment, then smiled and shamelessly adopted a grateful posture. "Oh my... Praise the Holy Light!"

But then, as if suddenly remembering something, he added with a twinkle in his eyes, "But let's make it clear, I'm only interested in the cases. I won't deal with anything else."

...

Sherlock walked out of the tent. The rain gradually subsided on the long street, and before long, the tent flap was lifted again, and Catherine walked in.

This Inquisitor Nun seemed to dislike having attendants by her side and even more so disliked using an umbrella. As a result, her hair and clothes were damp when she entered.

The raindrops on her skin seemed to be quickly absorbed, just like withered vegetation being nourished. And at this moment, her mental state seemed to have improved significantly compared to before.

"Why do you admire him so much?" she asked directly.

"A commoner who killed a second-level contractee. Isn't that worth admiration?"

"But Minister Bader was killed during the sacrifice," Catherine replied, hesitated for a moment, and then gave up her stance. "Alright, this detective does have a few tricks, but is that the only reason for your admiration?"

The old priest, lying wearily back on the bed, maintained a smile on his face. "Of course, it's not just because of that... If I'm not mistaken, this detective is undoubtedly a genius."

"A genius? But hasn't he never experienced an Awakening Dream?"

"Haha, I don't mean his talent in that sense. I mean his personal abilities. You weren't close enough to see clearly how he fired those shots." The old priest closed his eyes slightly, seemingly recalling the inexplicable scene from before. "When that guy fired his gun, it was all calculated."

Catherine suddenly paused. "Calculated?!"

"Yes, he took into account the position, bullet velocity, and even Minister Bader's movements. And that first shot he fired, he must have known that Minister Bader hadn't died yet."

"He's not a contractee, so he couldn't have sensed the changes in abyssal power within the smoke. That means this young man could only have deduced it through his own meansperhaps through reasoning or some other method. In any case, he's faster than you, faster than me!"

As the old priest explained, Catherine's expression became more solemn, and she couldn't help but recall the scene of her standing atop the clock tower, watching the strange figure below. It was so peculiar, as if all the mud and obstacles couldn't hinder his speed. Each leap and landing was unique, like a horizontal waterfall of water, stacking strength upon strength, forcefully propelling the body forward.

Could it be that this was also the result of premeditation and deduction?

With these thoughts, she finally looked at the old priest in astonishment. "Are you saying that he is a control-type contractee?"

"Yes, just like me, he is capable of remotely controlling demons. So, if his contracted creature is not too weak, given enough time, he will undoubtedly achieve greater accomplishments than me."

Catherine understood that control-type contractees were extremely rare because it required an immense capacity for reaction, reasoning, calculation, imagination, memory, and willpower, among other things. Their direct combat abilities might not be that formidable, but their functionality was undoubtedly irreplaceable. Just the ability to control a demon from several tens of meters away, or even hundreds of meters, provided them with an advantage that others couldn't match.

However, Catherine also knew that the downside of control-type contractees was the tremendous strain on their brains. The specific reasons could be discussed later. In any case, the extraordinary deductions and reasoning performed by Sherlock during the battle were undoubtedly a result of his brain operating at an overclocked state. If he remained in that overloaded state for too long, his brain might burn out.

Therefore, control-type contractees were almost unable to evolve to the third stage. After all, controlling large demons would undoubtedly surpass the human brain's capacity limit.

...

At this moment, next to a ruin outside the tent:

Sherlock couldn't smoke, which made him feel somewhat unpleasant. He casually sat on a collapsed stone, tilting his head back to watch the rain fall from the sky.

The dense rain veiled his vision.

Among them, a raindrop would fall on his nose after 0.7 seconds, then trickle down his cheek from the right side, converging with the previous raindrops and disappearing into the edge of his collar.

The wind in the night gradually subsided, and the temperature remained at 5 degrees Celsius. In

the distance, sporadic footsteps could be heard. Naturally, these sounds formed some kind of image in his focused mind:

Two personnel involved in the aftermath of the battlefield were carrying a scrapped armor. One of them was over 190 centimeters tall, while the other had just twisted their left foot. Further away, a wounded soldier had been moaning for more than five minutes. His ankle was shattered, so someone over there should be reminded not to bandage it forcefully; otherwise, it would cause bone displacement.

And further, further away...

Even further...

Voices, rain veils, gentle breeze, lights, moans...

These countless pieces of information converged into a river in Sherlock's mind, silently flowing.

If Catherine or the old priest were to know that his deductive reasoning ability was not an explosive overload of the brain but rather a subconscious norm, who knows how shocked they would be.