Chapter 48 Good friend or bad friend?

It was a dagger, black and unwashed, stained with golden liquid, and was devoutly offered in the pharaoh's resting place guarded by water lilies.

Holmes' intuition told him that the golden liquid was blood, dried blood.

No creature would have golden blood, but he felt so, because it really smelled of death, representing the passing of life.

He was very familiar with and sensitive to the smell.

But he was definitely not keen on it.

"The smell of blood is a stimulant for detectives." His college classmate once said this, because it meant that danger was approaching, and you also had cases and adventures.

"If no one was hurt, there would be no detectives in the world." He was a young man from an ancient family, claiming that he loved studying ancient Egypt and mysticism the most. He would deliberately wear some strange jewelry from Africa or Australia on his hands every day, and felt that this would give his life depth and connotation.

He claimed that he liked to face the dark side of human nature and was a cold-blooded observer of human beings, so Holmes felt that becoming his observer was an act of deconstructing art itself.

But it must be said that wealth gave him a lot of conveniences. He did collect a lot of knowledge and relics that were rare in the world.

Holmes had seen emerald blood, orange blood, and even a piece of colored blood in his collection, but there was a most beautifully decorated and prominent display stand in his collection room that was still vacant.

"That?" The nobleman lowered his voice and said, "I want to put golden blood in that position."

"Golden blood?" Holmes asked back, "Is there any book that mentions this thing?"

"No," he said, "but I have seen it."

His face showed a kind of obsession and fanaticism, making him look close to the edge of madness. He walked away from the laboratory quickly, even dragged Holmes' arm, strode up to the attic, and lifted a canvas. There

was a woman on the canvas.

She couldn't see her face, but she had long, brilliant golden hair and a glittering gold ring on her finger.

"The Ring of the Nibelung, the Rhine Gold," he murmured to himself, as if chanting a spell, "You've heard of it, right?"

"The ring, or the woman?" Holmes asked.

"Both," he said, "Endless wealth and abundance flow in her golden blood."

She was chaotic and beautiful, making everyone who saw her unable to look away and resist the temptation.

"Our chemistry comes from ancient alchemy," said the noble son, "but if alchemy really exists, will everything we learn now become nothing?"

"Not at all," Holmes replied, "we will just have a little more knowledge."

"No, no, no, Sherlock." The noble son shook his head, "you don't understand what this means."

"We exist first, and then we have concepts. The core of alchemy is that concepts appear first, and existence automatically changes itself to match concepts." The noble son opened an ancient black book, "For example, if you define lead, you are gold."

"Under this set of world laws, lead must become gold for this concept," he said, "This is real alchemy, Sherlock."

"Because they need to be what they are, they appear and become what defines them." The noble son explained, "Can you understand, Sherlock?"

Holmes knew that if there was another world, they might of course have a set of laws that were completely opposite to their own world.

"If this is possible, then alchemy is meaningless," said Holmes. "If we can produce what we need, then there will be enough gold and food."

"Yes." The noble son clapped his hands. "So alchemy is just a boring trick in the world of gods and monsters."

"But think about it," he looked at Holmes with sparkling eyes, "if we can seize this power and bring this power to our world that exists first and then has meaning."

"Whoever masters this will be the king of the world, the king of kings," he said, "having their power and living in this world."

"I believe someone has definitely done it." The noble son said, "but I haven't found a way yet."

He stretched out a hand and placed it in front of Holmes, which was a gesture of inviting an alliance.

Holmes stretched out his hand and shook it.

Of course, their alliance has now collapsed.

It's not that someone betrayed his loyalty, but that one day this noble son was found dead in his hunting lodge in the mountains. The cause of death was a drug overdose.

Holmes stared at the golden blood, but before he saw it, the only impression he had of this classmate was his extravagant jewelry and eccentric style.

Who did it, Mirabeau?

And now he has returned his memory.

So who killed that man, Mirabeau and Gold?

Although it makes sense logically, Holmes doesn't intend to draw a conclusion so quickly.

He is more curious about the dagger in front of him and the murder case that Gold said a thousand years ago.

He originally thought that the victim he was going to investigate was Osiris.

But it seems that there are more.

Whose golden blood is left on it? As the classmate guessed, does it belong to Gold?

He sat down by the water lily pond and carefully sorted out the information at hand. Gold, Mirabeau and Xina each have different properties, and they seem to each hold a king key.

And the king key, as the name suggests, can open the door.

Can the power of that world be brought to this world?

Then the king key will definitely leave traces in human history, Holmes thought, and even become a famous treasure. He may be able to find those kings by following these traces.

These kings now hope to be found by himself, he thought.

Because of the appearance of that man, James Moriarty.

He recalled the death scene of the nobleman's son. He put all his collections in the hunting villa that belonged to him alone.

The hunting villa is located in the Celtic oak forest. According to this person, the inspiration here is stronger, which makes it easier for him to find any clues that do not belong to this world. Holmes knows that there are various traces of ancient witchcraft in the nearby woods, such as the strange array painted on the ground and the patterns made of various animal bones.

There is only one road leading to here. There is usually only one gatekeeper in the hunting villa. His wife is the cook here, and there is an old housekeeper. A farmer will send vegetables and daily necessities.

The young man died in the bathtub. The overturned tray splashed a gray-white powder on the ground. Holmes squatted down, put a little on his finger and sniffed it. It was □□. It also has another name called □□.

It is a magical medicine that is superstitious in today's society. The nobles can't live without it almost every day. They mix it with their wine and take it. Doctors prescribe it to all patients. It can cure all diseases and solve all human suffering and problems.

His eyes fell on the broken glass on the ground. The dead man broke the syringe. He pulled up the dead man's hand and found that it was smooth without any scars.

This is not right. If he was poisoned by the medicine and knocked off the tray, it would be difficult not to be injured. There were only glass fragments on the ground, without a trace of blood. The dead man stared at the ceiling with his eyes wide open. Holmes squatted down and carefully examined the body.

He remembered that there was a person standing behind him at that time, and there was a person standing in the shadow, that was Mirabeau.

The man came over and lowered his eyes to look at the dead man. "How pitiful." He said, but there didn't seem to be any pity in his voice. "Are you his friend?"

"Yes." Holmes nodded.

"Good friend, or bad friend?" Mirabeau asked.

Holmes gave a short laugh. "Perhaps he doesn't need any more bad friends."

"Yes," said Mirabeau, reaching out and pulling out his cigarette case, shaking it and offering Holmes a cigarette. "It seems you have discovered that he has lost all his collection."

Holmes wanted to say that this was obvious. Even if he had never been here before, he could tell at a glance that the library was empty, and the cellar and attic were once full of things. Anyone who could take all of these away in a short time must be extremely rich.

Mirabeau looked at him and seemed to have some interest.

"Gold, what do you think of this young man?"

The blonde sat down on the edge of the bathtub and reached out to play with the water in which the body was soaking. This gorgeous and weird scene made Holmes' hair stand on end, and Gold had a smile on his lips.

"Well," she said noncommittally, "Why do humans always like things that are harmful to themselves?"

She picked up a gold ring that had fallen to the bottom of the bathtub and put it on her hand naturally. "It seems that this young man was not attracted to this directly." She raised her hand to show Holmes the magnificent gold ring