The Covenant Person

Dusk in London began at 3:30 p.m. Due to the accumulation of water vapor in the clouds, the gray sunlight passed through the mirror and was dyed with a layer of bright red. The church bells in the distance gradually stopped, and the day's service ended.

In the office, the old priest sat with his eyes closed. His thinning hair was like an insect's legs, twisting weirdly and imperceptibly…

Commissioner Lestrade bowed slightly and whispered in confusion, "Miss Catherine, do you know that detective?"

"No, I don't."

"But… but you seem to be very unhappy with him."

Catherine recalled the hateful face in the elevator and said coldly, "A clergyman's family member has been murdered! What we need now is the toughest and most professional elite who can handle the whole case alone and find out who did it, and have the murderer's blood dye the notice of the tribunal court red before sundown tomorrow.

"As you found me such a lazy, shameless, and muddle-headed scumbag who looks like he's on hallucinogens?"

Commissioner Lestrade stared at the other party in a daze. He was surprised by her assessment of Sherlock.

"But the honorable Miss Catherine, I dare to assure you as Scotland Yard's top police officer that he is the only person in London who can meet your requirements."

He refuted carefully. As the head of the London police force, in his own field, he almost instinctively showed his stubborn and arrogant side. He completely forgot that half an hour ago, he had been unwilling to mention the name Sherlock.

…

After Lestrade left, the old priest slowly opened his eyes.

He seemed to enjoy meditating with his eyes closed just now. The scarlet light of the setting sun shone on the side of his robe… Suddenly, a black crack appeared out of thin air, and a huge spider covered in fur crawled out quietly.

It was as big as a wheelbarrow, and its eight eyes were like eight pitch-black beans, glowing eerily under the setting sun.

The old High Priest reached out and rubbed the fur on its abdomen dotingly, causing it to emit a disgusting hissing sound.

"Lestrade has worked in the police force for his entire life. During the second demon invasion, he alone was in charge of the security of the downtown area. He also reduced the civilian crime rate there to a level that satisfied the church. I think his vision shouldn't be too bad…"

"I just feel that such a lazy person doesn't look outstanding at all."

The old priest smiled with interest. "I went to the underground cell just now. That detective caught a murderer today and came to collect the bounty. He… stuffed that criminal into a suitcase."

"In… the suitcase?" Catherine frowned in confusion.

"Haha, that's right. It's a suitcase." The old priest smiled and gestured in front of him. "I've never seen someone twisted like that to still be alive. Even those lunatics from the Life Research Institute would have to rely on a lot of equipment to achieve that.

Moreover, the murderer who was caught was not a simple character. The bounty had already reached 200 pounds. It was said that he only took two to three days to capture him… and he was caught red-handed when he committed the crime.

To a mortal, it's already extremely outstanding to be able to do this."

Catherine savored the old man's words. After a while, she said, "No matter how outstanding he is, he's still a mortal."

There was a natural contempt in her tone.

This was not the disdain of the higher-ups towards the commoners at the bottom. Rather, it was a very reasonable and logical way of condescension. It did not have anything to do with politics, character, money, or even social status.

It was more like an eagle's attitude towards rabbits which originated from the life of a species.

In the end, he was just a mortal…

Not a covenant person…

And in this era where the power of the abyss affected everything, the Vatican had long mastered the method to control the power of the abyss with the body of a human a century ago… Thus, an ordinary human would naturally be questioned about some of his abilities.

Fortunately, the old man's words were persuasive. Catherine's expression was still cold. In the end… she still nodded.

…

In the lounge, Sherlock leaned on the sofa and fell asleep.

He had a book in his hand.

<How to Save Yourself When Encountering Small Demons in the Wild>

The author was a guy named Bell Grills.

The cover was made of the cheapest cardboard. It had an illustration of a common hellhound vomiting an acidic liquid at a beautiful lady in a dress. The picture was crudely drawn, and the colors ran when it was printed.

This kind of self-help book was very popular in a certain period of time. After all, no one knew where the void rift would appear. If you were pooping and found that the void in front of you had split open, and a disgusting giant fly crawled out to suck your brain, reading more of this kind of book might increase your chances of survival.

However, after more than ten years of market validation, everyone gradually realized that such a book was completely useless. This was because when you encountered a lifeform in the void, either you had a Lescott shotgun and ample bullets, or you ran quickly.

You would run as fast as you could to the covenant person near you, ask for his help, or run to the nearest church. That's all.

If you had nothing and tried to use the knowledge in the book to fight the other party, you would surely die. There was once an author of a self-help book who sent himself into the freshly cracked chest of a scavenger monster with a slide shovel.

A delivery right to the doorstep, one direct step into the stomach.

"Do you want a smoke?" came a voice.

Sherlock was in a daze for a moment. He looked up and saw Commissioner Lestrade holding a cigarette and handing it to him.

"No need, I have it here." Sherlock yawned and took out a box of Blues cigarettes from his pocket.

"I still don't understand why you only smoke Blues. It's such an old brand. It's not easy to buy, and it's so choking."

Sherlock lit his cigarette and took a deep puff. He did not answer the question.

"You see, that's why you're not likable. There's so much about you that one can't figure out, and you never explain things."

Sherlock looked away and said, "If you have something to say, say it quickly. Don't beat around the bush."

"I've got a job for you. Homicide…" The Commissioner paused a little. "I hate to admit it, but… it's about the Vatican."

As he spoke, he kept an eye on Sherlock's expression. He thought that Sherlock would be pleasantly surprised when he heard the word 'Vatican'. However, Sherlock just frowned slightly and returned to his sleepy state.

"Why don't you have any reaction at all?!"

"Oh, then… thank you very much."

This tone of nonchalance annoyed Commissioner Lestrade so much that he angrily snuffed out his cigarette butt.

"This is the second thing I hate about you… You're not reverent toward the Vatican at all!!"