Chapter 67 The End of a Murderer

I wonder if Moran has ever imagined his own death.

He has killed many, many people, some of whom were shot directly in the vitals, some were disguised as accidents, and of course some of whom even had their bodies destroyed, leaving no trace of this person in the world.

What about him? How will he die?

Humans have some strange mechanisms, as if they will not die as long as they are alive, and they inexplicably enjoy this self-confidence that is taken for granted.

So they inexplicably overestimate the rights they should enjoy.

They should be alive, have a safe place to rest, and have food to eat.

It's ridiculous.

But parasites always seem to think that no matter how they suck blood, the host can survive.

All mortals are short-sighted.

Sherlock Holmes was drinking milk by the window, pretending to be nonchalant and just admiring the pasture in the distance. He knew that if he suddenly had a regular schedule, wouldn't that tell Moran to quickly summarize the rules and buy you a loophole?

So he decided to continue according to his lifestyle.

It was 6:30 in the evening, but he had already started drinking milk before going to bed.

This means that he will go to rest soon, so why did he go to bed so early?

Moran also learned about the surrounding tourist projects.

Then there is only one possibility, he wants to watch the sunrise.

And watch the sunrise on the top of the mountain.

So he sleeps now and gets up at midnight to climb the mountain.

Moran also found out that due to the current rainy weather, many tourists are worried that they will not be able to see the sunrise, so they gave up this project. Therefore, on the mountain trail at night, it is very likely that there are no other tourists in Holmes's field of vision.

This is the best opportunity to take action. He quickly sent a telegram to Moriarty and prepared to go directly to the mountain trail.

He needs to set up a sniper point opposite the best place to kill Holmes, so that he can have double insurance.

"Sir." When he walked into the town and prepared to have a sumptuous dinner, a young man in the tavern stopped him, "Would you like to draw a tarot card?"

Moran certainly knew about the tarot card, a kind of superstition from ancient Egypt, but many of his comrades said that the tarot card was very effective.

He looked at the young man sitting in the shadow. The young man looked at him calmly. The young man was wearing a black cloak and was covered in an ancient shadow.

Moran swallowed for no reason.

He sat down.

Of course, he also knew a little about Moriarty's research, including the inexplicable ring the day before.

But the young man sitting in front of him was definitely not human.

He knew that if he turned a blind eye and left, the consequences would probably be worse. It would be better to see what he wanted to do.

"You are not human, right?" Moran asked.

The young man smiled, "My name is Mirabeau." He said.

Moran's heart moved. He heard Moriarty say that there are two most dangerous gods.

One is Gold and the other is Mirabeau.

"It seems that I really need you to mobilize a large force to deal with it." Moran said, his hand clenched the pistol in his pocket. It was loaded with Sean's bullets. Even Mirabeau would die.

Mirabeau seemed to ignore it.

"Pick one," he said. "It is said that the tarot cards reflect people's expectations of themselves, the most hidden and true inner world."

"So you are not curious?" he asked.

"I don't like to expose these things." Moran replied.

Mirabeau raised his eyebrows, "Is that so?"

"Did you come here to kill me?" Moran asked.

Mirabeau smiled, "Then you sat down, are you here to kill me?"

"We only have one goal," Mirabeau said, "Professor Moriarty has told you that."

"Return to your hometown, and then humans will enter the so-called new world." Moran replied.

"Yes." Mirabeau said, "So we don't necessarily need to kill you."

"Why do you say that you are a victim?" A teenager sat down, "Colonel Moran, I heard Jenny say that you think you have always been a winner."

"Then you are obviously the perpetrator in our matter, why did you just say that you are a victim?"

This teenager has a strong sense of aggressiveness. His golden hair is brilliant and smooth, almost with a certain coldness, and his eyes.

It was red, with vertical pupils like some kind of beast or venomous snake.

"You wanted to disrupt our plan first, and now we want to kill you. Isn't it natural?" the boy asked, his blood-red eyes locked on Moran.

Moran opened his mouth. He was not a man with a silver tongue.

Mirabeau quietly shuffled the tarot cards in his hand. He spoke with a gentle tone, as if he was trying to coax someone into sleep. "I don't like being spied on either."

"But I am Mirabeau. I want to protect the safety of my species and the world. What's your reason?" he asked, "To protect yourself?"

"But if you are really as strong as you claim." The boy laughed, "Have you ever seen lions sneaking around on weekdays?"

"Don't they all sleep in the shade of trees without any hesitation? They don't even need to bury their feces." The boy joked, "It shows that you are not strong at all, Colonel Moran." "

So, do you think you are stronger than me?" Moran said.

The boy smiled, "Well," he stretched out his hand, and a bullet of bone color lay quietly in his palm, "You have this too."

Moran certainly recognized this.

This is the bullet made of Sean's bones, something that can shoot gods, exactly the same as the ones Moriarty entrusted to him in his pocket.

"This is my bullet." The boy tilted his head slightly, like a bird of prey looking at its prey, "Now, you can kill me, and I can shoot you." "

It should be fair between us," he said.

Then the boy slowly took off a white hood and threw it in front of Moran, "Then, Sebastian Moran, I, Sean, the King of Killing, apply to duel with you."

Moran trembled slightly.

This boy is Sean.

As his name suggests, he exudes a strong and aggressive temperament. When you face him, it's like being in a life-and-death arena. There is no choice but to fight him head-on.

After all, forgiveness and mercy do not exist in Sean's dictionary.

Mirabeau looked at Moran. "So you want to draw a tarot card?" he asked. "After all, this may be the only chance in your life to confess yourself directly."

"I remember," Mirabeau said, "some sharpshooters would go to nature to meditate, just to experience the feeling of unity between man and nature, to make themselves fully self-consistent, and to awaken all the energy in their bodies." "

Those people were probably killed by me, too," said Moran, a middle-aged man, dressed simply, with a heavy look on his face, obviously having nothing to do with these mystical and romantic things.

But he did hear such an argument, that when you are a harmonious and unified person, every organ of yours will be more sensitive, and your command of every muscle will be more flexible and delicate.

He had never practiced such meditation.

It was probably even more unnecessary now. He absolutely did not believe that Mirabeau was trying to help him improve his strength so that he could better face Sean.

Sean and Mirabeau exchanged glances.

"We are not accomplices," Mirabeau said, "We are gods."

"Sean asked me to help you," Mirabeau said, "and you know, Moriarty must have told you, we never lie."

"So, do you want to accept my help?" Mirabeau said softly, "Use the shadow to restore yourself, open your third eye, get a better rest, and then get better energy to face this duel."

Moran hesitated.

If he said he would not accept the duel, his whereabouts would be completely known to the opponent for some reason. If the next one to come was not Sean, but Gold.

He thought of the golden ring and couldn't help but feel a baby-like fear of the power of the King of Despair.

It would be better to face Sean, he thought, and he was not without a chance of winning.

"Okay." He stretched out his hand and drew a tarot card.

Mirabeau smiled.

Sure enough, Holmes was right, Sean thought, Moran looked very proud, but he was often conceited and at the same time inferior.

What's more, this person can be regarded as greedy for life.

Sean just now couldn't actually kill Moran.

Because Moran was using his power, Moran was considered his believer.

He should give his believers shelter, unless they failed him.

Just as he could not beat up Jack the Ripper and take back his power completely before he betrayed him, so it was the same for Moran. Although Moriarty had cheated him of some of his power, Moran had indeed completed the full set of believer rituals for him.

So Moran was indeed his believer at the moment, using his bullets and enjoying his shelter.

And, he continued to kill.

So, this believer was actually not bad, Sean thought badly, although the quality was very poor, there was no exciting killing that he liked, most of them were bullying, but the number was indeed large.

So I should thank him a little for his dedication to me in the past, Sean thought.

But now Moran surrendered to another god in front of him.

Mirabeau certainly did not lie, he was indeed giving Moran shelter and help.

However, only telling half the truth can sometimes cause more harm than a lie.

The gods who are slightly older than them are all proficient in this.

They don't lie.

What they say is true.

However, this truth, Sean's lips hung a sneer.

"It seems that Colonel Moran doesn't think he can beat me directly." He said unhappily, and began to play with his exquisite pistol and load the bullets into it. You really make me sad.

Mirabeau unveiled the tarot card chosen by Moran.

It was an inverted fool.

On the edge of the cliff, still happily walking forward, the arrogant and conceited person.

The dim light in the tavern illuminated the fool's face with his eyes covered and laughing, which looked a little gloomy and weird for no reason.

Moran didn't understand tarot cards, but he felt dangerous from the bottom of his heart.

"What does this mean?" he asked.

Mirabeau's hand slowly spread the cards on the black velvet, and his face still had a kind and gentle smile.

"Don't ask me yet, look back on your life." He guided, "Close your eyes, think about the people you have loved and hated in your life, what you regret, and what you want most."

Sean turned the pistol with his fingers boredly. Having known Mirabeau for so many years, he certainly knew the meaning of this Fool card.

Although the situation is extremely critical, if he can get his pursuit right, he can start again.

Mirabeau is giving Moran a chance to cleanse all his memories, return to human society, and then be punished by humans according to their laws.

Sean knew that this was Mirabeau fulfilling his obligations to his believers.

If he was killed by Sean, even his soul would be crushed into powder.

Compared with this, dying on the gallows is an extremely lenient treatment.

But can Moran seize this opportunity? Sean looked at Moran's expression with interest.

He closed his eyes according to Mirabeau's instructions, but he was obviously uneasy and could not enter the meditative state. Was he worried that Sean would shoot him now?

"Don't worry." Mirabeau's warm voice came into his ears, "No one can hurt my believers in front of me."

"Start meditating."