Chapter One: Old Jack
e particularly prominent beer belly, confirming that this guy was the one he was going to kill today.Let me know if you'd like to translate any other text!"Excuse me, do you have a fruit knife here" h...Old Jack has two things to do today.
First, he needs to pay the water bill.
Second, he has to kill a person.
Because he has a bit of procrastination, he always likes to put difficult things off until the last minute.
So he decided to kill that person first.
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6:00 AM
Calendar year 288 — London.
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Morning wasn't much different from dusk, with visibility poor. The Zeppelin hovering above Berlin like a sluggish whale, blocked the already scarce sunlight. The entire city felt enveloped in dust that seemed to fall from the sky.
But miraculously, raising my head, I could still see the distant smokestacks continuously spewing thick smoke.
These chimneys stand like flags, proclaiming the empire's supreme power and wealth. After the gates of hell opened, these chimneys puffed and huffed even more diligently.
To put it in terms of the newspaper... "If the factories don't step up production, how will we pay for government expenses Who will support the army Who will build the weapons And who will deal with those demons running out of the gates"
While it's dressed up in fancy words, even someone like old Jack, who hasn't read much, knows that those smokestacks spew out the sweat and blood of the poor.
As for the money, it all went into the capitalist's pockets.
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Oh, at that time the word "capitalist" wasn't widely used yet, so Old Jack was used to calling them by other terms...
For example: What a worthless bastard.
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Xianglan Street in Xicheng District, a small street about two kilometers from the Thames River.
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It took Old Jack three hours to get here, and now the morning mist had almost dissipated. Looking around, he could see a field of rather unfresh cow dung, garbage cans by the roadside that hadn't been emptied in months, steam billowing from the sewers, and two rats darting past a cat who merely yawned lazily.
At the end of the street, there was a general store. Even when the fog cleared, the storefront still hid in the shadows of the surrounding walls.
This proves that it's a killer place...
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> Old Jack is very happy.
He stepped over the cow dung on the ground and came to the door of the general store. He pushed the door open and went straight in.
"Good morning!" he greeted the portly man behind the counter.
The boss held a newspaper, his eyes glancing up from above it without saying anything. He looked menacing and unfriendly.
Old Jack looked at the eyes, clearly suffering from cirrhosis and filled with blood vessels, and the particularly prominent beer belly, confirming that this guy was the one he was going to kill today.
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"Excuse me, do you have a fruit knife here" he asked.
"Over there..." The boss pointed with an irritated look.
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"Thank you," Jack said as he walked over, picked out a decent one, and walked back to the counter.
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“Seven pence,” the boss continued in that unfriendly tone.
Jack thought, with such a loathsome disposition, it would be understandable for someone to want to buy his life.
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Of course, he didn't care who this guy had pissed off. All he cared about was finishing this job quickly and then going to pay his water bill.
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"Excuse me, is there a police station nearby" He put a shilling on the table and asked.
"No."
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"Well... how many customers does this place usually get"
"There's no one on the street, where are the customers!" The boss grumbled angrily and turned to look for change.
Jack nodded reassuringly, then picked up the knife.
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It went straight into the opponent's neck very smoothly.
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Sometimes, old Jack would ponder, why were humans so fragile A single blade could kill them, yet they were capable of ruling the entire world.
Yet, though those demons were individually very powerful, the gates of hell had been open for two hundred years and were still blocked by humans in Antarctica. They couldn't even cross the Drake Passage.
Could it really be because of those steam-powered tanks that only move by boiling water
Or... could it be those pact holders who made pacts with demons, forming symbiotic relationships with them
This is a test sentence.
Whatever, he's just an unknown assassin. He takes on jobs and gets by day to day. Who knows what tomorrow brings Maybe one day he can't do it anymore and starves in his own home. He doesn't care about what happens on the battlefield at all.
These days... everyone is having a hard time.
But luckily, today's job was pretty easy. The knife was sharp and easily pierced the other person's neck, tearing through the neck muscles and reaching the windpipe. With a light flick, I cut open the entire airway...
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Watching the boss, eyes wide with terror, stare at him before clutching his neck and collapsing, writhing on the ground like a fat, juicy maggot, Jack sighed helplessly. He turned around, flipped the sign to "CLOSE", pulled down the curtain, and locked the door behind him.
"This is so heavy, it'll take a lot of effort to carry it out. Luckily, there aren't many people on this street right now. In 10 minutes, we should be able to get it to the sewer."
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Just thinking about it...
Suddenly, Jack had a bad feeling again. He saw the people on the ground clutching their throats so hard that their fingers were stuck in the wounds. Their thick knuckles were poking in and out of the bright red gaps.
“Um.... I don't think so...”
No sooner had he spoken than his premonition came true.
This is a sample text.
The boss successfully pricked his own artery.
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Obese people are generally prone to hypertension, and those with hypertension have fragile blood vessels...
In an instant, blood gushed out of the wound viciously, like a miniature fountain, spurting straight up to the ceiling. It then shattered into splatter after splatter, crashing down onto the ground with a sizzle and pop.
As everyone knows, killing someone is actually quite easy. But if the body is covered in blood everywhere, then cleaning it up can be a real pain… It's like cooking – it’s easy to make a meal, but washing the dishes afterwards is a hassle.
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So Old Jack felt completely defeated in that moment.
He leaned against the door, rubbing his head in pain, and once again the thought of retiring quickly came to mind.
"What are we going to do!"
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And just when he was in excruciating pain.
"Ring ring..."
A series of phone rings suddenly rang.
Old Jack was startled. Following the sound, he finally found the phone under a pile of newspapers at the counter.
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A very standard 'Scottish Youth A. Bell' phone, which was popular at the time, but not cheap either.
He looked at the ringing phone, making a constant noise, hesitating whether he should answer it.
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After weighing his options repeatedly, he decided to pick up the phone first. Even if he didn't speak, at least he could hear who was on the other end.
So..... he put the receiver to his ear....
A clear man's voice came through the phone.
"Hello, is this Mr. Jack I'm so sorry to bother you, but I wanted to confirm, have you... finished... "
"Huh"
Jack only felt his mind go blank for a moment, then a feeling of absurdity and wickedness crawled up onto his scalp.
"Bang!"
He put the receiver back on the hook.
To be honest, he's a bit baffled....
What's going on Was that person on the phone talking about 'Mr. Jack'
Are you talking to me How did the other party know I'm here
Also, what does he mean by “killing them all”
As he was pondering, suddenly, he heard the sound of “咚~咚~咚~” knocking on the door.
Old Jack immediately turned his head. For thirty years he had been a killer, but at this moment, he held his breath in an unusual way.
'Who is out there'
He thought to himself, unconsciously starting to be thankful that he had just locked the door...
'It should be a passerby, as long as they don't make a sound, the other party will politely scram.'
However... thoughts trailed off...
“Click! Click!”
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The lock actually made a few light clicking sounds!
Then... the doorknob slowly turned...
Then, I was just pushed away like that.
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Outside the door stood a man in a windbreaker. He was tall but thin, about 30 years old, with a typical British look - his nose was quite prominent, making his facial features seem overly three-dimensional.
The overcast sunlight streamed in from the edge of his body, casting an eerie golden hue over the blood-soaked room.
That person glanced at the still-spouting blood fountain before them, showing no signs of alarm. Instead, they let out a breath as if suddenly understanding something.
"Whew—I told you so. I waited outside for a full five minutes and didn't see you come out. I thought you might have messed up, but it turns out you just had a broken artery; no matter, as long as you finished the job. That way...we can be considered both people and loot."
As he spoke, he cast his gaze towards Old Jack standing beside him. Seeing the latter’s bewildered expression, he nonchalantly took off his old hat and placed it on his chest, then with a lazy slight bow, said:
“Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Sherlock Holmes, a detective.”
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