Chapter 100: Chapter 65 The 2nd Secret Cause Spirit Medium_2
Translator: 549690339
The directionality and distance of the clues, as well as the tier of the target… all of these could affect the cost of divination.
Leonard Churchill had guessed that if his plan succeeded, someone might track him down using this anonymous tip.
On a logical level, there would be no flaws in this anonymous letter, Churchill was confident of it.
Therefore, they could only trace it through mystical means.
‘Since I’m going to be divined anyway, might as well make it a bit difficult for them,’ he thought.
If one does not leave their name, the pursuer would have to divine the origin of the entire letter.
But if one were to leave their name, that would be a directional clue.
‘Sunny Commoner’ instantly strikes one as the name of a place, and most likely the diviner would first try to divine in this direction.
After all, with directional clues, the cost of divination is much smaller.
And the principle of divination largely hinges on secret logical dimensions, such as fate or universal laws.
If it’s an entirely fictitious place name, it would yield no results and there wouldn’t be much cost.
But ‘Sunny’ is not made up.
This was a place name with a complete logical-direction.
Churchill had no idea whether an alien spacetime place name would cause backlashes that could kill the diviner on the spot.
But he didn’t consider this as tricking someone.
‘I’m reporting an evil organization out of goodwill, and you come looking for the whistleblower.’
‘Furthermore, you’re so keen on finding out who they are, you must be an enemy.’
Only large forces have the communicator.
For the common people in Sinless City, the primary method of communication was still legwork.
In the city, there were special postmen and newsboys. A few coppers could have these youngsters running all over the city to deliver a letter.
To avoid matters dragging on,
As soon as Churchill finished writing the letter, he found a reliable postman and entrusted him with the ciphered letter.
The postman was to deliver the letter to the Golden Oak Security Company headquarters.
The moon only shines at midnight, and he chooses to deliver the letter at dusk.
He figured that by the time the fight was over, the moon would still not have risen, the energy field had not begun to consume, and the timing would be perfect.
In a flash, it was already 10 pm.
In Team 18’s morgue, Churchill was handling corpses, occasionally looking at his pocket watch and muttering, “In theory, it takes an hour to deliver the message, an hour to gather and get to the place… Then they fight for a bit, and clear the battlefield. They should be done by now, right?”
The Golden Oak personnel would have launched a surprise attack on the Old Days Sect’s base with the information from the anonymous tip. Such a battle would be over in a short time.
This was the slum district, the population here was dense. Bodies couldn’t linger for long, as the pollution and its spreading effects would have serious consequences.
They absolutely had to notify the Corpse Collectors as soon as possible.
Churchill calculated, a message should be out around ten o’clock.
But the message did not come until fifteen minutes past ten.
He thought that if the news did not come soon, he might have to go and see for himself.
Yet just at that moment, a message came from the communicator: “Everyone, a job has come up at Redwood Tree Avenue! Bring more Corpse-Wrapping Bags!”
Upon hearing this, Churchill immediately perked up.
The news finally came.
“The company has sent a message that dozens of corpses have been discovered in a basement on Redwood Street, we’re going to have a busy night.”
“Captain, what’s going on? It’s rare for people to die there, how come so many died all of a sudden?”
In the truck, Churchill was listening to this conversation, it all sounded strangely familiar.
Back then, he went to Tailor Street without a clue.
But now, he knew exactly what he was going to do.
The descriptions matched with the location and conditions, it had to be the hideout of that evil cult.
Those Ancient God followers deliberately chose the Commoner’s Quarters due to the complex terrain and buildings providing good cover and facilitating the spread of faith to recruit believers.
The morgue truck of Team 18 raced down the road and soon arrived at 354 Flood Mountain Street.
The truck stopped by the roadside.
As soon as he got out of the truck, Churchill saw a raging fire burning on the ruins of a building not far away.
It was just as expected, the fight wasn’t that intense.
The followers of the Old Days Sect were just a rat pack hiding in the sewers, they certainly didn’t have the strength to face off with the Golden Oak Corporation.
He approached to find four well-built men in black suits standing outside the Border Clinic. These were the corporation’s field agents.
There were two agents last time, and this time there were four.
“Moon’s” matter had probably made them a lot more cautious than last time.
When he and the rest of the Corpse Collectors arrived, those suit-clad agents glanced at them with scrutiny.
But they didn’t make any fuss.
The Corpse Collectors entered the scene directly.
The site of this time’s sacrificial ritual was in a basement not far from the clinic.
It was a similar condition as last time, a few corpses had been silenced above, and the rest were in the dark and stinky basement.
Churchill paid a little extra attention to the fact that the corpses above didn’t have their chests shattered.
The wounds were very small, all located in vital areas such as the chest and throat.
Churchill had a vague guess in his heart: “Were these wounds caused by a surgical knife?”
It must be the doctor’s handiwork.
The old team members hung back and slacked off, allowing Churchill, just as he wanted, to be one of the first assigned to the basement.
He and the two other rookies held their lamps and descended, then saw in the dark, the skinned corpses hanging from the ceiling, slightly swinging.
The walls were still filled with those mysterious sacrificial symbols.
There were even more bloody corpses than on Tailor Street, he estimated there to be more than thirty.
The skinning skill was as impeccable as ever, making the corpses look like works of art.
The corpses seemed to emanate a mental stench, making one feel faintly nauseous even with a gas mask on.
Having seen it once before, Churchill was not surprised at all.
The Clown Mask shielded him from the spiritual pollution of the sacrificial ritual..