Whispering Verse

Most of the vampires living in Huntington are engaged in vineyard and winery operations or related upstream and downstream industries. The church is naturally aware of their existence, but as long as they do not suck human blood, the church has tacitly accepted that vampires can mix with humans locally.

The compatriot mentioned by Mr. Bernhardt is Orlan Wilson, a broker who lives in the west of the city and introduces local winery business to out-of-town wine merchants. Mr. Wilson is a three-ringed sorcerer. He is 34 years old and is proficient in divination, but he is still unmarried.

He was not particularly close to Mr. Bernhardt, but due to business reasons, he would visit Mr. Bernhardt's manor every New Year.

"He went out to visit friends in the New World this spring and accidentally got a rather troublesome relic, which was a dagger. The Pantanal Voodoo Society somehow knew about it and wanted to buy the relic. , but Wilson didn’t want to sell it to them, so he found me and hoped that I could take over the relic.”

Mr. Bernhardt said that not only was he powerful, but he also had the title of Viscount of Kasenrik. Would Pantanal Voodoo attack a noble noble like him?

The carriage soon took the two of them to Red Wine Lane, where Mr. Wilson lived, which was also the largest red wine trading center in the east of Huntingdon.

Mr. Wilson lived alone at No. 20, Red Wine Lane, in a three-story building with no attic. Mr. Bernhardt told Schade that Mr. Wilson used the first floor as his office and the second floor and above as his living quarters.

The two got out of the carriage talking and laughing, but after Mr. Bernhardt knocked on the door, no one opened the door after waiting for a long time.

"Could it be that you're not at home?"

Shade said to the vampire seed Lord who was dressed quite decently, wearing a black cashmere coat and holding a cane. The latter frowned slightly:

"Wilson took the initiative to invite me here. We agreed to meet at 10:30 in the morning."

"It's ten thirty-one now."

Shade gave a more precise time:

"Did something happen suddenly and I went out? Let's ask the neighbors."

The two asked neighbors living on both sides, but none of the neighbors had seen Mr. Wilson today. However, the little boy selling newspapers across from No. 20 told Shade after he bought a newspaper that a man had entered the house about half an hour ago, but left soon after.

The boy did not know the owner of the house, so based on his description, Schade and Mr. Bernhardt did not know who had entered and exited the house half an hour ago.

But Mr. Bernhard already felt that he had lost face. He specially invited his friend Shade, whom he had not seen for a long time, to visit here, but he was blocked at the door and could not go in. This made him feel quite embarrassed.

"Hold on."

Standing on the doorstep of No. 20, Mr. Bernhard pricked his finger with a fine needle, squeezed out a drop of blood and wiped it on the crack of the door. Then, the drop of blood seeped into the inside of the door like a living thing.

"I want to see what he did."

The middle-aged Viscount snorted, then half-closed his eyes, as if he was concentrating on controlling the drop of blood.

Shade then opened the newspaper in his hand to read the local news, but before he finished reading the first page about this year's economic growth announced by the Ministry of Finance of the United Kingdom at the end of the year, Mr. Bernhardt suddenly said:

"Oh, it seems we encountered some accidents."

"What's wrong?"

"Wilson is probably dead, to be precise."

Shade looked at Mr. Bernhardt in surprise:

"Then let's go in and have a look."

He knocked on the door lock, and with a click, the door lock bounced open.

Mr. Bernhardt sighed deeply:

"I didn't expect this to be the case in advance, so I won't delay your affairs."

"Of course not. Rather, I happen to want to have further contact with the Pantanal Voodoo Society."

After pushing the door open and entering the room, Mr. Bernhardt led Shade directly to the office on the first floor. In that windowless room, blood was splattered all around the walls, and the body of a strange man Shade had never seen before was lying on the floor. Judging from the amount of bleeding, even a vampire could survive. It doesn’t work.

Shade stood at the door and looked around. Mr. Bernhard had already squatted down to check the body, but suddenly stood up again and took several steps back:

"careful!"

Vines dripping with blood grew crazily from the corpse, and in just a few seconds, it submerged the entire corpse like a snake's nest. They crawled quickly towards the two people at the door, and their crawling appearance didn't look like plants at all.

"It's the Panatar Voodoo Order, those damn guys!"

Mr. Bernhardt cursed in a disgraceful manner, told Shade to retreat, and then snapped his fingers——

Bang~

The blood splattered all around exploded with a muffled sound like a liquid bomb. The blood with hot waves splashed again touched the vines, and the strange blood-red flames immediately burned:

"Blood Flame. Most of the vines summoned by the ring magicians of the Pantanal Voodoo Society are extremely afraid of fire."

Mr. Bernhardt explained, and after the vines were gradually burned by the bloody flames, he and Shade walked towards the body again.

Vines emerged from the corpse, greatly reducing the integrity of the corpse. Shade didn't want to use any adjectives to describe this corpse, as this would seriously affect his appetite and sleep quality.

However, when Shade and Mr. Bernhardt tried to turn the body over, they were stunned for a moment at the same time:

"Um?"

Shade heard the voice in his ears, and Mr. Bernhardt realized something:

"Fake corpse?"

It was Shade who said this first, and Mr. Bernhardt nodded immediately:

"It's indeed fake. It's really amazing. This is the 'blood fake body' that is a unique thaumaturgy of our race. Except for the same race, few people can see through this kind of substitute body at a glance."

"If he is really proficient in divination, he might actually be able to foresee this threat in advance."

Shade nodded, and in front of Shade, Mr. Bernhardt dipped his finger in the blood without any scruples, and then stuffed his finger into his mouth.

The middle-aged vampire gentleman squinted his eyes slightly, wiped his fingers and stood up:

"Detective, get out of here first. Wilson was indeed attacked. Pantanal Voodoo will kill him and take away the relic. But he left me a message in his own blood. He is hiding now Now, let’s go see him, at least we know what happened.”

"OK."

Shade nodded:

"Of course it would be best if this gentleman is not dead, but voodoo can be really cruel."

"How much sense can there be in people who seek power from evil things in subspace? Besides, they are originally a group of natives from the Everglades... I'm not looking down on country people... you understand me the meaning of."

Mr. Bernhard put on his gloves, and Schad asked again:

"Where is Mr. Wilson hiding? Is it far from here? If it is convenient, we can have lunch together. I also brought you wine."

Mr. Bernhardt smiled:

"Not far away, the Bloody Rose Hotel in the city. He is hiding there and is absolutely safe."

The Bloody Rose Hotel is located near the Huntington Railway Station, but it is not on the main road, but hidden in a small alley. After passing the low wall with a wanted poster, passing through the clothes hanging to dry in the alley, and crossing the muddy ground, they saw the hotel deep in the alley.

If the "Pink Rose Tavern" that Shade visited in Coldwater Port City was the kind of small hotel that you could tell at a glance that it would provide illegal services; then the "Blood Rose Inn" hidden deep in the alleys of Huntington City, It is an absolutely serious hotel that you can tell at a glance.

It is a wooden masonry structure and does not occupy a large area. There are even chicken pens and pig pens on the side of the first floor. Rude men shout loud slang in the tavern, and the peeling walls show how old this place is. The dilapidated double-open wooden doors that are rare in this era are used as the hotel entrance, and the interior decoration is shabby, as if it has returned to the era of forty or fifty years ago.

Even if this hotel was running at least one illegal business, I'm afraid it wouldn't be this shabby.

But fortunately, the tables, chairs and benches were relatively clean, and the pub on the first floor of the hotel also provided decent services. The inside of the tavern was filled with the smell of fermented food and alcohol. It was so shabby that there was no gas lamp, but an old hanging kerosene lamp. Anchors, rusty swords and strange decorations are hung randomly on the walls. This is a hotel in the slums, serving the poor who have no money.

Because he was worried about disturbing Mr. Wilson, who was probably still in a panic, Mr. Bernhardt asked Shade to wait on the first floor while he went upstairs alone to find his compatriots living in Room 302.

So with the newspaper under his arm, Shade ordered a glass of rye beer from the old bartender, then sat at a slightly clean table against the wall, unfolded the newspaper under the dim kerosene lamp, and continued to read what he had just finished. news.

The shade of that kerosene lamp probably needs scrubbing.

Mr. Bernhardt hurriedly walked up the stairs. The creaking sound made him worried whether the stairs would collapse immediately. Under the landscape oil painting that looked like abstract graffiti at the corner of the second floor, he passed by a middle-aged man with very short hair, only stubble could be seen.

The latter's skin was dark, his eyes were extremely double-eyelids, and he was also wrapped in an unusual brown old-fashioned robe that was often worn by people in desert areas.

Mr. Bernhardt just felt that this person was strange, but he only passed by him. The man wrapped in an old brown robe walked towards the first floor holding his notebook with slightly rolled edges.

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