When the plot-skips players into the game world

Chapter 546

Chapter 546: Chapter 426 Unqualified Spy Chapter 546: Chapter 426 Unqualified Spy At two o’clock in the afternoon, a large Gryphon with variegated feathers slowly descended in the backyard of Watson Detective Agency, carrying two adults and a child on its back.

“I really can’t thank you both enough.”

Wiping his sweat, Detective Watson repeatedly expressed his gratitude to Hayna and Sherlock, “Without your help, I fear I would have died last night.

Please, you must stay for a meal.”

Hayna touched the head of the Gryphon, Liz, with a hint of pity, “You should also thank Liz...

I had no idea she could actually carry us back.”

Liz had not yet fully transformed into white feathers, which meant she was still not an adult.

Even a steam train would take a whole night to cover the journey, yet she carried two adults, a child, and luggage for two, managing to fly all the way back.

“—And thank you too, Miss Liz.”

Watson respectfully bowed to the Gryphon that stood only a head shorter than himself.

Liz shook her head and crowed proudly, making a clear, hawk-like cry.

...

She was not able to speak yet, but she understood human speech.

Next to them, little Sherlock crossed his arms and said unexpectedly, “Actually, the weight is not much for her.

Gryphons are meant to carry fully-armed adult males over long distances...

Obviously, Hayna, you don’t weigh much more than armor and weapons combined.

Don’t spoil her too much; you can’t buy a bicycle and then carry it around because you’re reluctant to ride it.”

Liz let out an indignant cry at Sherlock.

It was unintelligible, but it was probably cursing.

Hayna quickly soothed her beloved Gryphon, making comforting but meaningless cooing sounds to it.

She really loved her Gryphon.

She had known it for less than half a month and had already spoiled it tremendously.

“There’s no need for dinner,” Hayna responded with a smile after calming down Liz, “Some fresh meat for Liz would be good, and some water too.

We’ll rest here for a bit and then we need to hurry back...

If we’re fast enough, we should be able to make it for New Year’s Eve.”

“Ah, sure, we have that.

Miss Liz, please follow me...”

Speaking, Watson led the proud little Gryphon inside the house.

Hayna, meanwhile, turned to little Sherlock and asked quietly, “I’m planning to go home.

What will you do?”

“...What do you mean, ‘what will I do’?”

Sherlock countered.

“Didn’t you send a letter home?”

Hayna glanced at Watson’s departing back and pressed in a lower voice, “You said you weren’t going home for the holidays this year...”

“Yes, I did.”

“So what now?

Are you going to rush home?

Or find Aiwass?”

Hayna was somewhat worried.

Being all alone on the bustling Glass Island during New Year’s...

that just sounded too lonely.

Even Hayna, who was not very sociable, felt a chill of loneliness, cold as snow, just at the thought of such a scenario.

“There’s no need,” Sherlock replied indifferently, “New Year’s is just a festival after all.

I can’t be bothered to go out tomorrow… Having finally returned, it’s more comfortable to rest at home and read some books.”

“By the way, don’t you have a romantic partner?”

“From this point of view, isn’t this my fortune?

“I was born out of love, into an affluent family, with loving and powerful parents.

Yet I don’t have to bear any obligatory demands because I have nothing to inherit, and thus I don’t have to shoulder any expectations I can’t bear.”

Watson spread his hands and spoke outright, “I am indeed not a qualified mage, much less a wise man.

All this time, I’m only at the Second Power Level on the Path of Wisdom.”

—You didn’t come to Avalon for freedom but because you’re a spy.

Sherlock opened his mouth, wanting to retort just so.

But these things were not suitable to be said outright.

But he suddenly realized...

if his father could send him here on a mission, and use his own favors to entrust him with protecting the other, wasn’t this also a form of love?

...Can mages also possess love?

This thought caused a brief lag in Sherlock’s thinking.

Seeing the newsboy hesitating, Watson smiled with satisfaction, “Your description earlier has changed my view of Mr.

Aiwass—I’ve let go of old prejudices, and now I can fully understand that he’s a great man.

“So I hope, Arthur, that you can also let go of your preconceptions.

Go and spend the New Year with your family.”

Watson said sincerely, handing Sherlock a box of exquisitely wrapped pastries, “This is what I was planning to buy to eat for the New Year.

As thanks for you saving me...

you take this back home.

“Don’t worry about the embarrassment of suddenly going back after writing a letter saying you won’t be home for the New Year.

If they are family, they won’t really care about such things.

Bring these pastries home, your family will surely be happy.”

Watson even conservatively said “family” instead of “parents,” because he didn’t know if “Mr.

Arthur Conan Doyle’s” parents were still alive, fearing to accidentally touch a sore spot.

Although his deductions were always full of holes, when it came to the ways of the world, he was quite considerate.

—You really aren’t a qualified spy, nor a qualified detective, Sherlock thought.

He wasn’t going home for the holidays partly because he didn’t gel well with family...

but more so because it would be troublesome to explain his current childlike appearance, and he didn’t like to explain.

It had nothing to do with the letter.

Watson had not noticed the dissonance about him, let alone seen through the poorly concealed disguise that was almost unlabored.

No wonder, as a spy, he received the full protection of the Supervisory Court.

...But as a friend, this fool might just be manageable.

Mr.

Watson is an unqualified spy, but indeed a good person.

Sherlock glanced at him and ultimately sighed helplessly, “Fine...

but I must seriously remind you two, I am not homeless.

I have not been disliked to that extent, at least I have a place to go for the New Year.”

For instance, to Bishop Mathers’ house, Sherlock mentally added.

He should be able to take me in...

probably.

But after Watson’s comment, Sherlock had a new idea—

He wanted to know if his own parents could recognize him, having become smaller.

“So then, gentlemen,” little Sherlock readjusted his hat brim, “farewell...

I’m going home.”