Back in his hometown, when Gord used to moonlight as a "cleaner," he had encountered a fair number of corpses and many gut-wrenching scenes.
So, the carnage at No. 32 Little Durian Street didn't faze him at all.
In fact, he felt a strange sense of familiarity.
And in this familiar feeling, Gord immediately sensed something was off.
The entire scene was "too clean"!
Not in the traditional sense of the word!
The corpses, blood, and wreckage certainly didn't make the scene "clean."
The real cleanliness was from a "cleaner's" perspective.
Something was missing...
Weapons!
Take the corpse next to him, for instance. The body was tall, strong, with calloused hands, especially thick in the thumb area, indicating that the person likely wielded a large sword or war hammer.
But there was no such weapon in the room at No. 32 Little Durian Street.
Then there was the body to his left, embedded in the wall, with dark skin but lighter patches on the first and second knuckles of both hands.
Rings?
It looked like marks left by wearing rings for a long time.
But in fact, they were likely rings with a fishing line attached, connected to a crossbow mechanism.
Gord turned and found two small holes in the wall opposite the corpse, but the arrows that caused the holes were missing, clearly taken by someone, just like the large weapons the other bodies had wielded before they died.
"Someone 'cleaned' the scene after Morey left and before Swart arrived!"
Gord's eyes turned cold as he drew this conclusion.
Why had he come here?
For the [Bloody Honor] that might exist!
And [Bloody Honor] was attached to the "murder weapon"!
Now, the weapons representing the "murder weapon" had been cleaned up by someone, so the [Bloody Honor] was naturally gone.
This was something Gord could not accept.
"Swart!"
Gord called out directly.
Swart, who had been reluctantly standing outside No. 32 Little Durian Street, walked in slowly, carefully avoiding the blood and bits of flesh on the floor that made him want to vomit.
"Someone cleaned up the battlefield before you got here and took some things."
Seeing Swart's hesitation, Gord spoke bluntly.
"Huh?"
The sheriff was stunned, then stormed outside in a rage.
This time, the sheriff paid no attention to the mess underfoot. He rushed out and grabbed one of his subordinates by the collar, yelling furiously, "I told you not to touch anything before I arrived!"
"Those things are mine!"
"Mine!"
"Only after I've picked through them can the rest be yours!"
"Got it?"
"Damn it!"
With that, he punched the officer in the face.
Bang!
The officer staggered back.
"Chief, I didn't!"
"Everyone can testify!"
The officer, clutching his face, looked aggrieved.
Swart glanced at the other officers, who all nodded emphatically.
The sheriff quickly calmed down, believing that while one or two might dare to deceive him, it was impossible that they all would—especially since No. 32 Little Durian Street didn't have enough valuable loot to warrant such a conspiracy.
So, the sheriff looked back at Gord.
"Use your connections to trace any two-handed swords, hammers, or hidden crossbow weapons that have appeared since today."
"And ask the residents around here if they saw anyone suspicious."
Gord instructed.
"So it's just some weapons… don't worry, leave it to me!"
Swart said confidently, but still uneasy, he returned to the room. After checking that the wallets of the bodies were still there and that the basement storage hadn't been disturbed, the sheriff finally sighed in relief.
But before he could fully relax, he heard Gord whispering in his ear—
"Half."
The whisper was more terrifying than the devil's, and the sheriff's face twisted as if he were wearing a mask of agony.
But he didn't dare protest.
Not only was he somewhat intimidated by Gord, but also because Gord was now standing in for Morey.
With both factors combined, the sheriff had no choice but to silently accept it.
Meanwhile, Gord had already begun searching the basement.
Rows of dried sausages and fish were neatly arranged.
Nearby were several jars sealed with corks.
And there were two well-sealed boxes.
These two boxes were square, about a meter on each side, and stood out prominently.
Swart eagerly opened the two boxes, then gasped in delight.
"Weapons!"
The sheriff's eyes lit up as he looked at the neatly arranged revolvers, rifles, and explosives inside the box.
He became even more excited after quickly estimating the value of these items.
For the sheriff, this was truly an unexpected windfall.
But as soon as he thought about having to share half with Goethe, his face immediately fell.
At that moment, Goethe had already come down from the second floor.
The second floor, half of which had collapsed, had almost no place to stand, and everywhere was covered in dust.
"There are no footprints in the dust on the second floor, so the other party didn't go upstairs. They must have quickly left after 'cleaning up' the first floor, and they didn't touch anything in the underground storage room!"
Goethe thought, frowning slightly.
He wasn't afraid of encountering greedy enemies.
The greedier the enemy, the more likely they were to reveal flaws.
But it was precisely this kind of moderately greedy yet extremely cautious enemy that left Goethe feeling helpless.
The simplest example was if the other party hid these weapons and waited for the heat to die down before making a move, it would be like searching for a needle in a haystack for Goethe.
Thinking of this, Goethe's expression became a bit grim.
"Don't worry, I'll definitely get those things back!" Swart assured, patting his chest.
"Alright."
"I'll leave the rest to you," Goethe replied noncommittally, nodding slightly before turning around and boarding the hotel carriage to return to Pine Hotel.
He had come here to look for the "Bloody Honor."
Now that it wasn't here, he naturally wouldn't stay long.
As for other matters?
With those two crates of firearms, he believed Swart would handle everything, including tracking down the missing weapons.
Whew!
Letting out a long breath, the disappointed Goethe quickly adjusted his emotions in the carriage.
Don't dwell on temporary failures, unless you want to keep failing!
Goethe had learned this lesson back in his hometown.
And he had steadfastly adhered to it.
Now, in this unfamiliar world, Goethe would only stick to it more firmly.
"Life is always like this; it won't be smooth sailing."
"What I need to do now is to rest well, and then..."
"There's another important task waiting for me tomorrow!"
Goethe wouldn't forget Morey's advice: "Starting tomorrow, go to 'No. 10 Fevery Street' at 3 PM to find Mrs. Pence and study the extraordinary language."
He kept it in mind.
Moreover, he was finally relieved that he wouldn't have to sleep in a chair or a sleeping bag anymore—he could lie down in a bed, which gave him some comfort.
However, as he got off the carriage, he saw the head of security standing in front of the hotel, waiting for him.
As soon as the head of security saw Goethe getting off the carriage, he immediately walked over and whispered——
"Young Master Goethe, there's something I need to tell you, about..."
"Your aunt!"
(End of the chapter)