"Watson!"

When the bearded middle-aged knight heard the name, he smiled and nodded, but did not say anything.

The other two knights touched their chests with one hand and saluted with a smile.

Although the name of this prophet was very unfamiliar to them. But respect for the prophet is the default rule, so they are still courtesy.

"It seems that Mr. 'Watson' is the city of London that has just entered the underworld?" The bearded middle-aged knight asked in a polite tone.

This is really the underworld......

And sure enough, it was in London, the capital of England...... Sherlock's thoughts raced, but he replied in a noncommittal and calm tone:

"Just go for a walk."

"Haha...... If it's the same road, why don't you go together? "Mustachioed middle-aged knight, friendly trotting salute," introduces himself, Nicholas, a little man chasing transcendent knowledge. ”

As he spoke, he pointed to the other two knights, "Davis and Henries are my companions, good companions who are friendly and helpful. ”

When Sherlock heard these three names, he couldn't help but complain to himself.

Nicholas, Davis, Henrys, this is the most common name in the English countryside, basically similar to Zhang San, Li Si, and Wang Wu.

This is clearly a pseudonym...... Sherlock looked at the three of them with a smile and nodded, "Mr. Nicholas, it's a pleasure to meet you!" ”

"Come on, Mr. Watson, please get on board! We went right in time to the 'House of Cards' trading point, and if we were lucky, we should be able to make it to the deal. ”

Nicholas held out his hand, Sherlock thought for a moment, said thank you, and jumped on the horse.

The three tall horses galloped again, clattering hooves, but in a moment they had turned to another street.

The surroundings still felt dusty and gray, and Sherlock kept watching, remembering all the paths in his heart.

There was a faint sound in front of me, and an old-looking tavern gradually appeared.

A brown wooden plaque with a copper rim hangs under the eaves of the tavern with a lace in British lettering: "Bay Area Warrior Tavern".

In front of the tavern, a burly man stood. He has a bald head and beard, rough facial features, and wears a wide dark cloth robe.

Beside this bald man, there stood six or seven people with different shapes. There were men and women, like they were in line. They were all dressed in old-time costumes, and one lady even wore a peaked wizard's black cloth hat, and her face was extremely conspicuous with colorful makeup.

"It's here, get off the horse!"

Nicholas said hello, rolled over and jumped off his horse. Sherlock cautiously jumped off as well, then cautiously looked around.

Well?

Due to its proximity to the tavern, the glass of the exterior window is stained, but it still reflects the appearance of Sherlock.

He couldn't help but be stunned.

As you can see from the glass, his appearance is completely unfamiliar.

It was a young man in his twenties, with brown hair, ordinary facial features, freckles on his face, and wearing a mid-length dark cloth robe with narrow sleeves that was common in old times.

Sherlock looked down at himself, it was obvious that it was pajamas.

When he looked up at the glass again, he saw a strange figure with brown hair and freckles, dressed in a dark cloth robe.

I understand!

Sherlock suddenly realized.

No wonder Nicholas met for the first time and was not surprised by my image at all. It turns out that all the people who arrived here have changed their images and are no longer themselves at all.

Perhaps it was while I was wiping down the signs and observing them, I was met by Nicholas and asked if I had just arrived in the city of London.

But why did he call me a "prophet"?

Sherlock stared at his image on the window pane, and then realized that his eyes were light blue. Like a deep lake, it has a special temperament.

With this discovery, Sherlock looked again and noticed that the lady wearing the wizard's black hat had dark red eyes. There is no white, and the whole eyeball is dark red, which is particularly prominent.

As for the others, including the three Nicholas, they were all normal-eyed.

"Distinguish certain special people by special pupil colors?" Sherlock secretly guessed, but there was no answer, and it was not easy to ask casually.

In this strange place, in an unfamiliar circle, the best way to keep yourself mysterious is to keep yourself. If you don't ask, you don't ask, and you can draw inferences by participating in observations.

The bald man standing in the tavern spread out his hands, and in the left and right palms, there was a stack of playing cards, but they were all backs, and the cards could not be seen.

Each person in line, in turn, takes a card and enters.

Sherlock followed the three Nicholas, carefully observing their behavior.

Nicholas, Davis, and Henries each took a card, looked at it, and followed it.

It's Sherlock's turn.

The bald man glanced at him, but still didn't speak, waiting for Sherlock to pick a card.

Sherlock was about to reach out, but paused.

"I'm an apprentice, why don't you roll the dice once?"

He thought of this, but then his face froze again.

Because I didn't bring any money.

Without silver coins, how can you pay the price of the dice of fate?

Hair...... Sherlock thought of his hair.

Although, at the moment, he still doesn't know what his hair represents. But by all experience, it's definitely something of value.

Give it a try!

Sherlock made a decision, plucked a hair, and held it in the palm of his hand.

The question posed by the dice roll of fate: "I now pick the card in the bald man's left hand to represent good luck?" Bad luck? ”

Sherlock held the palm, symbolically tossed, and then slowly opened.

There is no doubt that the hair is gone.

The palm of the hand leaves an illusory "dice", which is hexahedron.

Three sides have color, and the other three sides are transparent nothingness.

The black side is now displayed on the "dice".

Black, representing bad luck.

Sherlock got the result, and without hesitation, he reached out and took a card from the bald man's right palm.

Choosing the left is bad luck, so choosing the right will naturally not be bad.

Solitaire in your hand, very ordinary cardboard thick cards. When I opened it, it was a "J of Spades".

Sherlock didn't know what it meant, but from the look in the bald man's eyes, it was a good hand.

In fact, Sherlock can continue to roll the dice of fate, constantly picking and choosing layer by layer in the hands of bald men.

Just doing this, not to mention the cost, it is estimated that the bald man will blow up his hair on the spot.

Sherlock took a deep breath, put away the cards in his hand, pushed the door open, and walked in.

......

Inside the tavern, there is no complicated decoration.

Simple an open field with small tables and wooden chairs in the middle. In front of it is a small stage with steps, all made of wood. The ornaments are all sculptures, paintings, bone pendants, and so on.

The whole tavern shows the traces of time, old and plain. It smells of wine and tobacco, with a slight hint of perfume.

About twenty people were already seated, familiar with each other and whispering.

Nicholas had already raised his hand in greeting, and Sherlock nodded and walked over.

Bang Bang!

On the small stage, a hanging bronze bell is pulled by a rope.

Voices resounded throughout the space, and everyone sat quietly.

An old man with curly white hair with an old appearance, a fluffy white beard dragged down to his abdomen, wearing reading glasses, and a robe with complex patterns, slowly walked up the steps.

............

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