Sherlock Holmes

"A letter?"

Sherlock seemed to be interested. When he was dealing with Pope Nadine Bellew, in order to prevent the other party from tearing his neck and screaming, he had to stab his throat first, so he had no time to inquire about the Ripper. Things, which made him a little depressed.

"Yes, all Rippers should start with a letter.

I still can't find out where the letter came from, who wrote it, or when it was placed at the door of the room where I live.

In short, the letter appeared, and what was written inside was the name of the person you wanted to kill the most.

as well as

It can be killed with absolute safety and without any legal consequences. "

At this moment, a beam of light swept across Sherlock's face, and Hopkins clearly saw a bright light flashing in the other person's eyes.

Then Sherlock smiled, grinning like a weight, as if his whole body felt relaxed.

"Ha ha."

"It turns out that this is what [The Ripper] really looks like."

Hopkins frowned. In fact, every time he saw this guy's expression of interest in something, he always thought of himself.

Of course, Sherlock's face is a little distorted at this time. The facial contour that has nothing to do with softness blocks most of the light, making his face extremely complex in light and shade, even a little evil, but that's because Sherlock looks like him. The reason why it doesn't look good is that you can actually see that at this time, he is joyful and happy from the bottom of his heart.

Once upon a time, when I used the law to judge a crime, I seemed to have this kind of pleasure in my heart.

As soon as this thought came out, Hopkins was startled. He didn't want to believe it and wondered, could it be that he also had the potential to be a pervert?

Fortunately, he quickly recovered his thoughts and continued:

“When I received this letter, it happened to be when I had just taken up the post of Supreme Judge of the Third Division of the Tribunal.

At that time, I was completely confused, and I began to feel that the imperial laws that I once regarded as truth were actually a joke.

To be honest, I was a little envious of you during that time. At least you could use your own mood to kill a criminal, regardless of whether he was punished by law or not.

But I couldn't do it. I was already the judge of the Third Division at that time. What I did would affect the subordinates of the Third Division. Anyway, I definitely couldn't give an order to pull over and kill someone who had not been sentenced.

Although he was promoted, he was collared.

At this time, a letter appeared subtly at the door of the apartment where I lived.

Of course there is no signature, no mailing address.

That day, I opened it with doubts and saw a person's name written inside.

An inhumane bastard, the grandson of the previous Cardinal, who also holds the title of Lord and controls two-thirds of Miltia's gold mining rights.

He likes to play with pillows

Of course it's not the kind of pillow made of cotton and cloth, but people, beautiful women. He likes to cut off the limbs of those girls, and then use the repair solution that can only be used within the Holy See and on the frontline battlefield to make them Their wounds healed and they looked like pillows.

He even has a pillow factory and regularly holds pillow parties, which are attended by many celebrities from the upper echelons of society.

No matter from any perspective, this man deserves to die, but he lives the most luxurious life in the world.

On the back of the letter, he wrote down his itinerary in a week, where he would go, what hotel he would stay in, and what he would drink.

He also made it clear that as long as he put some medicine in the glass of wine and knocked him out, he could disguise himself as his driver. He also gave me a verbal code from their security team and a route so that I could transport the guy to A secret location that guarantees that his security personnel will never be able to find him for three days.

There was an abandoned slaughterhouse. There was a cutting machine that was maintained and still usable. It could easily cut off a person's limbs. There were no residents around, so there was no need to worry about the screams being heard.

You may not understand how I felt at that time.

I clearly know that what is written on this piece of paper is the most blatant crime.

But at that time, I actually saw justice between the lines.

I felt scared, and I didn’t know why I had the idea of ​​trying it in my mind.

What's even more frightening is that the writer of that letter also said that he had prepared stimulants in the slaughterhouse that would prevent people from falling into coma, as well as squid flower juice that would prevent people from bleeding to death.

In fact, I was able to control my impulses at first, but when I saw these two things, I felt as if I had been seduced by an unscrupulous merchant who gave small gifts after the sale.

That evening I got on the train to Miltia Parish. "

As Hopkins spoke, there were patrolling guards passing by from time to time, but he didn't care at all, as if he hoped that his words would be heard by these people and then expose him.

Because after that day.

He's addicted.

An extremely real addiction. When a person has the ability to kill someone at will, what will that person become?

It may be a terrifying existence that obeys desires, or it may be an angry venting machine that wants to take revenge. Of course, it may also be a peaceful and tenacious person who still abides by his duties as a judicial officer during the day, and at night, transforms into a A lawless person who is outside the law and abuses his private life.

"So, those notes left behind are not a warning initiated by you, but are telling the messenger who the person you want to kill next is?"

With a small gap in his thinking, Sherlock was able to connect everything naturally.

Hopkins nodded:

"Yes, as long as the person selected by that mysterious guy can leave the name of the next person he wants to kill in the body of the person he kills, and the other person will, at a suitable time, Send a letter to you again.

It might be at the door of your room, it might be on your seat on the bus, or it might be when you open the back of the bill while eating. In short, he will once again tailor a murder case for you.

I don’t know how he did it, let alone why he could see the names we left in the corpse. Of course I tried to investigate, but I didn’t find anything. But what is certain is that that guy is a genius. A murderer, the killing methods in his mind are almost endless.

However, no matter how exquisite his methods are, those who execute them are not all that smart.

It seems that after they completed several killings, they began to feel complacent and began to feel that they were the lucky ones chosen by some god of killing. Therefore, they gradually began to become unscrupulous and their methods of committing crimes became less abiding by the letter. Said, so naturally some flaws will leak out.

And I found them, and then killed them one by one, and left the name of the next Ripper I found on their bodies.

In this way, I gradually created an illusion, as if there were many Rippers murdering each other. I would also write the names of some Rippers in letters, and then secretly send them to other Rippers. Those guys who were afraid of death never thought that this was the simplest conspiracy. They just wanted to hide or kill the opponent first.

Therefore, more and more Rippers' names appeared among the corpses. They began to kill each other and became more and more radical. They had no time to release their desire to kill and just wanted to survive.

The person who wrote the letter didn't seem to care about this phenomenon. He even gave those people new killing methods and asked them to kill each other.

In short, these guys are dying faster and faster, in more and more numbers. "

Sherlock took a deep drag on the cigarette, and then smiled: "It turns out that the weird state of killing each other between you was brought about by you alone."

"Of course." Hopkins admitted, but he was not at all complacent about creating such a big battle and causing other Rippers to start killing each other: "Although I am also one of the Rippers, I know what I am doing, there is no way I would allow such a group to exist in this world.

Therefore, I must kill all others of the same kind, I must be the only one. "

Deception, conspiracy, devouring the same kind, and letting others kill each other are the most despicable betrayals in any ethnic group.

Murder, kidnapping, spreading fear, ignoring the laws of the empire, and abusing lynching are also actions that will not be tolerated by society.

Hopkins is a leader who has high hopes from the Inquisition, and is likely to be the first person in the Imperial Judiciary in the future.

It's hard to imagine that he has such a side in the darkness that people can't see. So he can't be happy. He is always wandering between the law and self-justice, pretending to be what people want him to be. It looks like that, but it is also burdened with some kind of suffering that only he can understand.

But Sherlock didn't know about this kind of suffering, or as he said before, he didn't care.

What interests him now is the real Ripper! That person who wrote the letter!

"So, Nightingale's name was not actually written by you."

"Yes, it should be the name written by the writer himself. Although he changes his handwriting every time, I can feel that it is that guy."

Hopkins said, throwing the cigarette butt on the ground and exhaling with some difficulty.

This is what he has been worrying about these days.

The real Ripper wants to come forward and kill someone himself, so who can stop him?