Flames flickered, and the explosion roared deafeningly.
Windows, doors, and fragile walls were instantly shattered by the shockwave.
Along with them, Dr. Hode's body was also blown to pieces.
Swart crouched by the side of the carriage, holding onto his hat. He glanced at Goethe, then at what remained of Dr. Hode's now-ruined residence, and silently raised Goethe's danger level in his mind once again.
As a police officer, even a negligent one, the sheriff had seen many ruthless individuals due to the environment he worked in.
But someone like Goethe was a first for this sheriff.
Cautious and careful.
That wasn't particularly terrifying.
Many people could achieve that.
What was terrifying was when a person, after being cautious and careful, also carried with them a touch of reckless... madness!
That's right!
Madness!
Swart had seen it clearly just now—Dr. Hode's body only began to 'come back to life' after the dynamite was thrown in!
In other words, before that, the house was perfectly normal.
Yet, faced with this normality, Goethe didn't hesitate to blow it up.
Just because of a small suspicion, he destroyed it without any regard for the consequences.
Even if it turned out Goethe was right afterward.
It still made Swart's hair stand on end.
Because he almost instinctively thought about what would happen if Goethe suspected him...
The sheriff couldn't help but shudder.
The outcome was obvious.
Immediately, the sheriff turned to Goethe, who had already stood up, and flashed another fawning smile.
"What should we do next?"
His tone was one of complete consultation.
"Follow your procedures," Goethe said as he climbed into the carriage, as if leaving everything to Swart.
"Get the men, seal the scene."
Swart smoothly instructed his subordinates.
The patrolling officers, who had witnessed everything, had no intention of arguing and immediately got to work.
The massive explosion also caught the attention of the residents of the Boulevard district.
Compared to the lower-class areas, the people living here were mostly middle class and above.
They didn't need to struggle for their daily meals; each person had a stable income. Although they weren't as wealthy as the rich or the nobility, they far surpassed the lower classes, so they had the leisure to be curious about what had happened.
And they weren't afraid to ask the police.
This was when Swart made his entrance.
As two teams of patrol officers maintained order, Swart stood before the residents of the Boulevard district.
"My apologies for disturbing everyone."
"After our investigation, it appears there was a gas explosion."
"Unfortunately, Dr. Hode was at home…"
As he spoke, Swart took off his hat and placed it over his chest.
The surrounding residents also showed sadness and removed their hats.
"Dr. Hode was a good man."
"I was going to make him my personal doctor."
"I never expected such a terrible thing to happen."
People murmured quietly.
Some were genuinely upset.
But others?
Were just putting on a show.
Swart didn't expose them, choosing instead to go along.
Once the residents' curiosity had been satisfied, Swart turned to get into the carriage.
But when he opened the door, he was stunned.
Goethe was not inside.
A sudden tension gripped the sheriff's heart.
The next moment, he bent down to check under the carriage seat.
When he found that the box of dynamite under the seat had been opened and a few sticks were missing, his expression changed instantly.
But he quickly returned to normal.
He muttered quietly to himself, "Two gas explosions in a short time... It looks like the gas company needs to thoroughly inspect the entire Boulevard district! And as a responsible sheriff, I should supervise the process personally and... selflessly."
With a smile on his face, the sheriff suddenly found himself looking forward to something.
Pharoah slowly walked down the stairs, supporting himself against the wall.
Each step made him feel as if his internal organs were twisting, as if being stabbed by knives.
But he gritted his teeth and persevered.
He was too weak now.
So weak that even a child could overpower him.
Although he had already dealt with the male owner of the house, the female owner who had gone out was still alive—under normal circumstances, this wouldn't have mattered to him. If she came back, he'd kill her effortlessly; if she didn't, she would just be lucky.
But now?
If she suddenly returned, he would be the one getting killed.
The recent explosion had already drawn enough police attention.
Even if they were a bunch of useless drunkards, in a situation like this, they were still deadly.
The mere thought of the explosion made Pharoah gnash his teeth in anger.
The trap he had set was flawless.
Even if Goethe had suspicions, he would have come back to inspect Hode's body, then Pharoah would have used the corpse to launch a fatal attack.
But to his surprise, Goethe never entered the house from start to finish.
Not only did he not enter the house, but he also carried a box of dynamite, lit it, and threw it inside.
Standing by the window, Pharoah had immediately tried to control Dr. Hode's body, ready to make a last-ditch effort.
But it was too late.
As Dr. Hode's body was destroyed, Pharoah suffered a severe backlash.
"I'll need at least two weeks to recover!"
Pharoah never expected that even after gaining extraordinary power, he would be pushed to such a state by an ordinary person.
"Just wait!"
"When I recover!"
"I'll make you wish you were dead!"
Pharoah thought to himself as he pushed open the door.
Looking at the crowd of ordinary people and police gathered across the street, chattering away, he let out a cold laugh.
The inferiority of mortals!
Then, he turned and left.
He planned to return to his lair without delay.
Though he was anxious, his body, weakened by the backlash, wouldn't allow him to move quickly, forcing him to take slow, shuffling steps like a feeble old man.
The 100-meter distance to the street corner took Pharoah five minutes to cover.
Here, he could catch a public carriage.
Pharoah breathed a small sigh of relief.
His body was in no condition for physical exertion.
Having reached the corner and now away from the police, Pharoah let his guard down a bit.
He gazed down the road, hoping the public carriage would appear soon.
He had no idea that a pair of eyes had been watching him from the shadows since he left the house.
Now, those eyes were accompanied by the barrel of a gun.
Despite the backlash he'd suffered, Pharoah still sensed the danger of having a gun pointed at him.
Instinctively, he tried to dodge, but his weakened body couldn't move fast enough. He managed to twist halfway, but it was enough for him to see the person holding the gun behind him!
"Goethe!"
Pharoah's face was filled with terror.
Goethe pulled the trigger without hesitation.
Bang!
Bang bang bang bang bang!
Goethe's first shot hit Pharoah in the chest.
Pharoah fell to the ground.
Then, Goethe aimed at Pharoah's head and fired again.
Five consecutive shots!
Not until Pharoah's head was completely pulverized did Goethe cautiously emerge from the shadows.
At this point, he was holding another revolver, advancing slowly while aiming at Pharoah's left and right chests, firing two more shots—one for each side.
Then?
A bundle of five lit dynamite sticks landed precisely on Pharoah's body.
(End of Chapter)