The cold tip of the cane cut through the wind, heading straight for the main target. Its objective was clear, its angle tricky, and it was completely lacking in martial ethics.
Russell didn't even think. He executed an extremely ungraceful 'lazy donkey roll,' tumbling twice on the ground before barely avoiding the fatal strike.
"Hey! Miss Morstan!"
He scrambled up from the floor, patting the dust off his clothes, his tone carrying a trace of genuine annoyance for the first time.
"This isn't exactly behavior befitting a lady, is it?"
"Don't you think it's a little late to bring that up now?"
As soon as Mary's voice fell, her wrist flicked. The cane struck again like a venomous snake darting from its hole.
Alarm bells rang loudly in Russell's heart; he dared not hold anything back.
He pushed off with his feet, leaning his body backward, allowing the cold tip of the cane to graze past the tip of his nose in a hair's breadth escape. He could even smell the faint scent of metal mixed with maintenance oil lingering on it.
"You're actually serious?" Russell stabilized his stance with a backflip, putting five or six meters between himself and Mary. His tone was filled with disbelief.
[Mary Morstan considers your question superfluous. Malice Points +80]
"You forced me, Mr. Moriarty." Mary held the cane, advancing slowly.
Her breathing remained steady, but within those azure eyes, a genuine fire of rage had ignited.
"I originally just wanted to teach you a decent lesson, but now, I've changed my mind. I've decided to break your legs first, then hand you over to Scotland Yard. Let them have the headache of dealing with your incessantly chattering mouth."
Hiss... seems I played with fire.
Russell cursed inwardly, but he didn't dare stop moving. He began to circle the spacious room, while Mary followed like a shadow. The cane in her hand had turned into a life-claiming talisman; every swing was precise and lethal.
Russell had to admit, he had severely underestimated the combat capabilities of this Duke's daughter. This wasn't at the level of 'learned self-defense'—this was honest-to-god killing technique!
This won't do. I have to run. Running away is shameful but useful.
I've earned enough tonight. A man shouldn't lose his life just for Malice Points.
He barely dodged an attack with a sideways shift, his back slamming into the wall. The cold picture frame dug painfully into him. And in that very instant, a splash of intense color intruded upon his peripheral vision.
It was a painting. The style was intense, the colors mad—it gave him an inexplicable sense of familiarity.
Isn't this a work by that painter named Winter?
Wait, is this the time to be thinking about that?
Just as Russell snapped back to reality, Mary's offensive suddenly changed! She abandoned her tricky thrusts. The cane slammed downward in an extremely plain yet unusually vicious sweep, heading straight for his ankle.
This move came fast and urgent, leaving him almost no opportunity to dodge!
This is bad!
Russell's pupils contracted. He screamed internally that things were going south, and his subconscious prepared to unleash the Twilight Shroud to escape.
However, just a moment before the cane touched his ankle, Mary's movement came to an abrupt halt for half a second. Her wrist forcibly reined in the power.
It was just this half-second!
For Russell, this half-second was enough. Without hesitation, he borrowed this window of opportunity, tapped his toes on the ground, and leaped backward, landing steadily three steps away. Although his posture was still wretched, he was unharmed.
"Hmm?" Russell steadied himself, looking at Mary with some surprise.
That moment just now... was it a mistake?
Unlikely. It looked more like... she actively stopped her hand.
But why?
[Mary Morstan feels slight displeasure at your survival. Malice Points +50]
Mary did not immediately pursue. She simply stood quietly in place, her brows slightly furrowed. Her gaze bypassed Russell's shoulder, landing on the oil painting behind him.
"What's wrong, Miss Morstan?" Russell caught the shift in her line of sight and subconsciously switched on his taunt mode. "Couldn't bear to do it?"
[Mary Morstan feels a wave of nausea at your sentimentality. Malice Points +50]
"Too much narcissism can make one feel greasy." Mary's voice was cold as ice. Her gaze finally moved away from the painting and refocused on Russell.
"I just didn't want to damage that painting. It is his posthumous work."
"This painting?" Russell raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Winter's work?"
"Oh my, I didn't expect you to actually recognize it." Mary looked at Russell with some surprise. "I thought your brain only contained ways to offend others."
"I know a thing or two." Russell spread his hands, his tone as relaxed as if he weren't the one who had just experienced a life-and-death chase. "You haven't considered how many collection rooms in London I've visited."
He deliberately steered the topic in this direction, attempting to find a safe moment to catch his breath, and incidentally probe this temperamental Duke's daughter.
"Then, what do you think was the cause of his death?" Mary's voice was very soft, as if asking an inconsequential question.
"What else could it be?" Russell scoffed with feigned disdain. "The evidence is conclusive, the motive clear. A profit-driven apprentice killed his teacher to inherit the estate. This kind of story has been written to death even in third-rate novels."
As he spoke, he closely monitored the System notifications in his mind. However, this time, the expected Malice Points did not arrive.
Mary just looked at him quietly. There was no anger, no rebuttal. Instead, her look was like she was watching a... fool.
"Do you really think so?" she asked softly.
"Otherwise?" Russell countered. "Do you actually think that apprentice is innocent? Don't joke around, Miss Morstan. Surely you aren't the kind of naive young lady who gets deceived by tears and lies?"
[Mary Morstan turns her nose up at your stupidity. Malice Points +30]
Here it is. Although not much, it's better than nothing.
Russell felt settled inside. It seemed attacking her intelligence was more effective than attacking her appearance. However... looking at her reaction, it seems there's a hidden story behind the painter's death?
"Naive?" Mary repeated the word, the corners of her mouth finally curling up into a cold arc once more.
She did not continue the topic. Instead, she gripped the cane in her hand again. The tip tapped lightly on the polished floor, emitting a crisp click.
"Chat time is over," she declared. "Before you disturb anyone else, I think we should end this."
"What, is the young miss going to get her beauty sleep?" Russell said while retreating.
"If you don't die, I can't sleep."
Mary spoke, then launched another forward thrust. At that same moment, a smoke bomb appeared in Russell's hand.
[Twilight Shroud]!
Poof!
Thick smoke instantly swallowed everything. Mary's cane stabbed into the smoke with imposing momentum, yet she felt no sensation of piercing flesh.
The smoke cleared. There was no one there.
The damned thief had vanished, as if he had never appeared.
Mary maintained her thrusting posture, her chest heaving violently. Her azure eyes were filled with the lingering palpitations and rage that follow a storm.
Her cane had precisely pierced the wall where Russell had just been standing. No, not the wall. It was a white card pinned to the wall by the cane.
Mary slowly retracted the cane and took the card between her fingertips. There were no superfluous words on it. Only two words written in her own lipstick, in a dashing and elegant script:
[Goodnight
——Moriarty]
The handwriting was beautiful, exactly the same as the [Moriarty] card from last night.
Mary's gaze moved slowly downward, landing on the windowsill where the curtains were stirred by the breeze. There, the lipstick she loved most, which had been stolen, was lying quietly. Beside it, thoughtfully placed, was the brooch worth five thousand pounds that should have belonged to her.
"..."
The young girl pinched the card that said "Goodnight" and fell silent for a long time. Then, she smiled.
It was an extremely complex smile, a mix of annoyance, absurdity, and the excitement of meeting a worthy opponent. And a trace of amusement that even she hadn't detected.
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