Chapter 65 Vultures are tearing the world's corpse

James Moriarty's current plan is to kill Sherlock Holmes.

This is the fastest and most direct way to make his subordinates and partners trust him again.

The death of his old enemy means that he has defeated fate.

It means that there is no one in the world who can defeat and stop him.

Then the temporary twists and turns and setbacks are nothing.

Moriarty took out a match and lit a cigarette for himself. He found that his hands were shaking for no reason. He hadn't felt this way for many, many years. He had been a spider behind the spider web and a veteran in the fortified city for too many years, and was insulated from the most direct danger.

These dangerous and laborious jobs were only done by humble people for him.

However, he had to do it himself now.

Of course, he found that he was not so forced.

Of course, he wanted to kill Holmes, and with his own hands.

Thinking of this, he began to search for the guy's whereabouts.

In the dawn, his messenger walked quickly through the empty streets.

"Mirabeau," Luna said, holding a toothbrush in his mouth in a daze, "Good morning."

The Shadow King walked out of the darkness and took shape. "Good morning," he said, "Switzerland is not bad, isn't it?"

"Compared to Egypt?" Luna rinsed his mouth and thought vaguely whether he should eat a piece of cheesecake.

"Egypt is naturally good too," Mirabeau said, "If they hadn't developed those damn daggers and tarot cards, I would like them more."

"After all, they are human beings." Luna said, "So what are your plans for today?"

"I'm going out with Sean." Mirabeau answered honestly, "and then kill Moran."

"Well, it sounds good." Luna looked at himself in the mirror, "It's a fulfilling day."

"Maybe not a day." Mirabeau said, he sat down slowly, calmly drinking coffee with a lot of rock sugar. He still likes rock sugar instead of easy-to-break sugar cubes like the Egyptians.

"Maybe Moran is also difficult to kill." Mirabeau said.

Luna rubbed her eyes. "Yes," she said. "I heard that Moran survived many extremely cruel battlefields."

"So he doesn't mind the world falling into war again?" Jenny said. She obviously didn't sleep but was very excited. After all, the air was full of the smell of plunder and greed, which was enough for her to have a good meal.

"Come to think of it," Jenny smiled. "This name," she raised a finger and stroked the beautiful jewelry on her head. "I seem to have seen him."

"I have some impression."

Luna looked at her.

Jenny blinked, as if searching for old memories.

"It was many years ago," Jenny smiled and said, "You know, Britain loves me very much. All their ships that go out to sea carry my statues."

Conquer, the word sounds really glamorous, but if you want to conquer a place, of course you have to bring cannons and soldiers.

Moran is one of the soldiers.

When he was very young, he found that his greatest specialty was killing, so going to sea was the best choice to exchange his talent for gold and honor.

Of course, his family also supported him. It was better to say that the whole world was in a collective frenzy. Overseas was a land of gold and pearls. As long as you went there, you could immediately become a superior person.

Then the problem came. Everyone thought so and everyone wanted to have a piece of the pie.

Moran heard that people in the past could conquer a large area of ​​land with just one shot.

Three thousand British soldiers destroyed the glorious Mexican Empire.

However, he obviously missed that golden age. There was too little gold and too many bandits, so the bandits could only fight each other.

Soldiers in the past could slaughter natives like chickens and sheep, but now he was squatting in the trenches, facing the equally well-armed French or Iberians.

There was no way. No one could spit out the fat meat in his mouth unless you strangled him.

Moran put the hot barrel on his back. Today, he was lucky. He was not injured and repelled the enemy, but his companions were not so lucky.

He squatted down, checked the battlefield, and turned over a body.

He knew this man, a teenager, who had just been sent here today.

It was normal, 70% of the recruits would be scared and die in the first battle.

If they didn't die in the first battle, it would be difficult to die in the future.

This was a kind of threshold for entering the industry, Moran thought.

He lifted his collar and rummaged through his belongings. This young man was as bored as most people, and the photos of his family and girlfriend were placed in the safest place.

He had a watch, but it was not worth much, but it was better than nothing, and he also had some change.

Moran finally took off his boots, which were obviously prepared by his family for his adventure. They were much better than the pair he had on his feet, which had been in service for more than a year. He put them on and stepped on them. He didn't intend to waste time, because if he was not quick, more benefits would be taken away by others.

The next body was his friend's, so to speak, because this person admired him very much and often gave him rare cigarettes and alcohol, hoping that he would teach him more experience. However, Moran did not think that these cigarettes, alcohol and care were worth the skills he had gained after surviving a narrow escape.

So this guy is lying here, Moran thought, he should have some money.

Then the next one, it seems to be the captain of the company next door, Moran looked at the insignia representing the rank.

"Are they all your friends?" He heard a voice.

Moran raised his head and saw a woman.

A woman who should not be here.

She was wearing delicate and fragile silk clothes, with an exquisite hairstyle, and still looked brilliant under the dim sky light.

But he felt that this woman was very familiar.

Yes, very familiar.

It seemed that he had seen this dress in a temple or on the bow of a ship sailing to the ocean.

"You call me Jenny," the woman introduced herself, "the king of conquest."

"It seems that you are protecting our expedition." Moran did not stop what he was doing. He might have hallucinations, but it was not bad to chat with hallucinations, which could kill time from boring work. "You

can say that," the woman said, "You don't seem to have any problem with me."

"Why should I have any problem with you." Moran bit the cigarette holder, trying his best to squeeze out the last bit of nicotine in it.

"Because of the so-called conquest, all your friends died." The woman said, "You ate and lived together, and even came from the same place. Don't you feel sad?"

"Do you want me to leave?" Jenny asked.

Moranho raised his head, "You, leave?"

"You will recover from the frenzy of conquest, cultivate your own land, take care of your own family, and live your own life." Jenny said, "Do you yearn for it?"

Moran shook his head.

"If my choice is useful," he replied, probably because he thought it was an illusion, so he was very frank, "Why do you want to do that?"

"I don't think it is a good choice, although it is embellished in songs and fairy tales. How noble and beautiful it is." Moran said, "I think it is just the cowardice of the loser, just to find a way out, but I am a winner."

"I have survived." He said, "I will continue to survive."

Jenny smiled.

"Okay then." She smiled, "You will continue your conquest."

"I hope you will always be a winner." She smiled.

Moran had to say that this sentence was quite pleasant.

He believed it too.

After all, no one was better at killing than him. Whether in Britain or any other European powerhouse, he had never seen a better sharpshooter than himself.

However, Moran found out one day that he had lost.

Just as he felt that the help and flattery of his subordinates and partners were worthless, his superiors also saw him in this way.

Without him, wouldn't there be these victories? It's nothing more than a few more deaths, and a few more deaths or fewer deaths are insignificant to the superiors.

So why do you think these looted gold and spices have anything to do with you?

Moran was kicked out of the army with nothing.

The superiors jokingly said that you should have made a lot of money, so your conquest trip must have been quite profitable.

He did make a lot of money, gold teeth, watches, change, and stealing from local people's homes. Of course, he made a lot of money.

But in the end, when they arrived at the end of the conquest and looked at the mountains of antiques, spices, and jewelry, the superiors said that this was the country's income.

It has nothing to do with you, Moran.

"Moran, you are already a colonel." The general smiled in a different way, "The next level is a general. I have given you everything I can give you in this life."

"I hope you stay and continue to contribute to the country." He said.

Continue to kill people for you, and then watch these treasures being taken away?

What do you mean by my rank of the best military officer? How are you better than me? However, I know that you will be a major general the day you join the army.

"Colonel Moran." The general's fingers twisted the paper slightly, and the diamonds on the watch sparkled with magnificent brilliance. "You also know that I cherish your talent, so I exempted you from many punishments that were worthy of military court."

"For example, do you remember how your friend died?" He said in a veiled way.

Moran certainly knew what he was talking about. He shot and killed the leader of the friendly army because that guy wanted to compete with him for the right to plunder this town.

He thought he did it secretly enough.

Unexpectedly, this cunning guy still caught the evidence.

No promotion, no share.

So he decided to leave.

Because in that year, he met James Moriarty.

The other party gave him a job with better treatment and more reasonable dividends.

"Speaking of which, the French colonel you killed," Moriarty said casually, "his family hired a British university student to find out the truth from the scene you covered up."

"How do you know this?" Moran said.

"Because he is also my student, and they are very fond of his detective talent." Moriarty said, "That man, I remember his name was,"

"Sherlock Holmes."