The night was getting deeper, but the brightly lit Cutrice was more vibrant than the day.

The warmth of a summer night blows through the streets, and the staff in formal suits and the various stalls soliciting business along the street are blowing. Some young people who had nothing to do gathered in pairs, talking and laughing through the lively streets, and the well-tailored coats made them even more glamorous.

At the beginning of the day, the working hours of some special groups of people have just begun. A few women wearing subtle but powerful clothes are walking on the backs of the lively streets in beautifully decorated high heels. They were in the same kind of work as Rebecca, but they were much better off than she was.

Everyone goes through their daily routine according to their own habits. Residents accustomed to such a boring life would not have noticed that there was more discord in the ruins they often had to pass by, and that there were more cars parked on the side of the road than usual.

In the ruins of the current corpse, several security officers in red and black uniforms gathered together, and the atmosphere was very sinister. Because Curt's report was timely, the news was blocked perfectly, and only members of the guard team came to the scene, and none of the annoying reporters arrived.

"Annoying bugs are enough for these flies!" said an unknown security officer, who in the eyes of many of the reporters at many of the newspaper offices in Cutrice might be more annoying than flies. These unprofessional journalists will always add fuel to the report, which is a headache for the security officers.

This is especially true of vicious homicides, and if they know a little bit about the homicides in that place, these guys will come in waves like flies hovering over corpses right now. Maybe they don't realize it, and this behavior is like a vulture, swallowing misfortune as food.

But even if they did, the tragic scene might have discouraged them from putting such a photo on the front page of the newspaper. The lighting installed by the guards made the scene clear, and the tragic condition of the corpses was more vivid than when simple night vision was maintained by spells alone.

Cold corpses, twisted faces, splatters of blood, and plants wrapped around limbs...... It is not art when it is called art, and the strange scene in front of me is full of mad individualism. The overflowing personal assertion takes the form of a "decorative painting" displayed on the ground, which burns the retina of all people.

Even experienced security officers who have seen all kinds of corpses cannot bear to look at the miserable body of the deceased. What's more, as soon as a few young people who had just joined the work saw the decorative paintings assembled from the corpses, their stomachs couldn't help but churn, and they ran to the side of the road in three steps and two steps and retched.

The person in charge of the scene was undoubtedly Grostide, and Curt found a coin-operated phone booth on the side of the avenue and called Grostide directly to Grostide's office. Now he was learning about the situation with the security officer of the Investigation Section, and the expression on his face was stiff.

It's been hard work for Grostide these days—in every sense of the word. He is Curt's most trusted security officer, and he is also a trusted second-class officer in the garrison, so when she mentions "reporting to the garrison", the first thing she thinks of is him.

When Curt called, Grostide was visibly tired. The incessant work of the past few days had left him with little chance to sit down and rest, and in the morning he and Curt had dealt with the questions about François' commission, and were dragged on to deal with other cases that had piled up.

Perhaps as expected, Grostide revealed his exhaustion when he received Curt's call.

After he had listened to Curt's report, he whispered a foul word before he continued: "You know, I haven't had a normal rest for days, and now I finally sit down to have a supper—but you told me that I had found another dead man and let me pass!"

Complaining aside, Grostide, who was keen to work as a member of the garrison to maintain the peace of the citizens of Catrice, quickly arrived at the scene with a group of security officers. The tired crew must have been working with Grostide for about the same amount of time.

"Tsk, is it a doji this time...... That madman is really getting more and more blatant. Beate walked over to Curt's side, just one glance, and the tragic condition of the corpse made him keep raising his eyebrows, and he was not like those newcomers when he was already experienced, "It was like this last time, and it was like this before—does this guy really think of himself as an artist?"

He walked over with a large pile of dossiers in his hand, from the clerk's office next to Grosted. After Béatt had concluded his questioning of this rather suspicious first-man formalism, Curt had him make a mention to Grostide.

"Let's make a deal. ”

Curt grinned as he looked at Beate, the familiar young security officer with a pen, confirming the "confessions" recorded by Curt in his notebook. Hearing his offer of "make a deal", Beate looked curiously into Curt's smiling eyes.

Bate propped up his black-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose and said curiously, "Mr. Leinster, you said a deal, what deal are you going to make with me?"

Beate had several contacts with Curt and knew that Grostide trusted the mercenary. But sometimes he really had a hard time keeping up with Curt's thinking. He sometimes even thinks that this mercenary is mysterious and looks out of tune, and he often thinks of these strange things in his head.

"Not with you—it's us, including me, you, Grostide, and the rest of the guards," Curt said with a subtle smile on his face, shaking his finger slightly to deny Beate's words, "I want to exchange information with you, and exchange these things I have for you." ”

He showed off the notebook in his hand and showed the contents in front of Beate. Although the Slots did not investigate much about the "blue eyes", they did know quite well about the Slots who were attacked. These were recorded in notebooks and even photographs, and the bodies of some gang members were not even seen by the guards.

The only drawback is that the person who took this note did not take into account the commonality of the text, and the content was all written in Slote. Curt wasn't an expert in language, and he couldn't even be confused just by listening to it. He couldn't read what was written in his notebook.

I had made an appointment with Calette Colleras to provide someone to interpret the notebook, but the amount of text recorded in these notebooks was quite large, and translating it into the imperial Chinese was not a task that could be solved in a short time. Rather than hoping for gang members who have no credibility, it would be more efficient to have the guards who need this information more efficiently send their linguists to decipher the notebooks.

In any case, Curt did not promise not to share the information he received with others, so it would be good to exchange this small amount of information for the resources of the security team that also needed it. Uniting a qiē can unite the power and let the forces outside oneself become a help to solve the problem.

"What's going on with these notebooks?" As he expected, Beate was quite interested in the notes in his hand, and he leaned closer to look at the notes that Curt handed over, "These photos are all victims in the previous case, could it be that Slot's gang is also investigating this serial murder case?"

Seeing his curious look, Curt simply stuffed all the notebooks into his hands. Anyway, these Slote Beates can't understand them, so it doesn't matter if he looks at them. Sure enough, after a while, Beate, who was flipping through his notebook, gave up his plan to study the words.

Curt stared blankly at Beate, who was dizzy from Slot's language, and Curt said, "It's not that they're investigating this serial murder, they've actually been involved." ”

The Slots were attacked by the "blue eyes" and displayed in a strange way by the prisoners...... The murderer's target was the Slots, but he didn't care who he was, gang members or civilians would be the targets of his attacks.

Of the "works of art" that have appeared, three are civilians, and the rest are gang members - they are not entirely under the authority of Callert Coleras. Aside from the fact that they were also Slots, there was little connection to them.

The shadow of death loomed over the ignorant Slots as they continued to attack, and the gangs they concentrated their fire on were even more frustrated.

The Slott gang did not officially inform the garrison of the attack, and several of the more high-impact incidents were not yet able to catch the garrison - although they were aware that a group with "Blue Eyes" had entered the Carteres.

So Curt selectively told Beate about the information he had. These include the commissions of Abbot François, the recent cases of his birth in the city, and the situation facing the Slotes...... After listening to Curt say this, Beate's eyes became complicated.

After thinking for a moment, Beate, who knew what this meant, immediately told Grostide about Curt's mention. As part of the deal, a notebook containing the Slotter's gang investigation was also sent to the top person in charge of the scene, the second officer of the security team.

I don't know what they discussed, but Grostide, who had flipped through his notebook, finally asked Beate to send the backup file of the garrison's investigation file to Curt.

Grostide didn't have time to come over and talk to Curt, but along with the scroll came a sentence: "The garrison will mobilize the wealthy to do everything in their power to investigate." The enemy's forces may be stronger than imagined, and every action must be cautious when investigating. ”

Waving his hand from afar to thank Grostide for his concern, Curt weighed the files that had been sent to him—they were heavier than the notebooks he had sent out.

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