Chapter 1285: Her Majesty’s Theatre |
On the screen was Gareth’s slightly pale face. Sir Perkins of the Foggy City Knight Bureau listened silently to his report through Earth’s Ear.
“…My deepest apologies, Mr. Perkins. We failed to stop him from leaving.”
After a moment of silence, Sir Perkins frowned and asked, “Did he really say he would return to the castle prison?”
Gareth nodded. “He did say that.”
“I understand.” Sir Perkins nodded. “The matter of Farrell’s breach is to be known only to those who participated in the prison island incident. Issue a gag order to the knights stationed on the island.”
“But sir… this is Farrell. He’s already left the prison island,” Gareth said in disbelief.
Sir Perkins shook his head, somewhat helplessly. “Since he said he would return, then he certainly will. He has never broken his word.”
“But—”
“That’s enough.” Sir Perkins waved his hand. “The castle prison couldn’t hold him anyway. Three Knights of the Round Table were like children before him, utterly powerless. Gareth, don’t you understand yet?”
Sir Perkins sighed. “Back then, it wasn’t that we had the ability to imprison Farrell in the castle prison—it was that he willingly walked in himself.”
“What?!”
Ignoring Gareth’s shock, Sir Perkins said solemnly, “Knight Gareth, I’m assigning you a new task. You have six hours to rest and travel. Proceed with Dagonet to the designated operation point for your suppression of ‘Doomsday Myth.’ Also, inform Lancelot to return to Her Majesty’s side as soon as possible and resume her duties.”
Gareth stood at attention and acknowledged the order.
After ending the communication, Sir Perkins walked alone into the depths of the estate. Passing through layers of tightly secured mechanisms, he finally arrived at a secret chamber accessible only to the highest authority of the Foggy City Knight Bureau.
Inside stood a massive throne. Upon it sat a suit of silver armor in a seated posture, regal like a king.
Sir Perkins slowly stepped before the armored throne and reached out. The moment his fingers touched the gauntlet, it was like an electric shock, forcing him to withdraw his hand.
He exhaled softly and murmured, “Mordred… after all these years, you still won’t accept anyone but Farrell.”
Farrell, without even donning the holy armor, had easily defeated Gareth and the other two. A trace of melancholy appeared on Sir Perkins’ face.
He silently raised his gaze from the throne upward. On the wall behind it was a massive mural—
A knight clad in silver holy armor, wielding the legendary king’s sword, fighting against hundreds of ‘demons’…
…
…
A night passed quietly as the Earth turned.
When morning came, Miss Maid had already prepared the washing items—even squeezing toothpaste onto the toothbrush and readying a hot towel, standing by attentively.
“I suddenly feel like a wicked feudal lord,” Luo Qiu joked after washing his face.
Miss Maid smiled gently, carefully straightening her master’s clothes. “That beastwoman left at five-thirty this morning with her younger brother.”
“So early?” Luo Qiu blinked.
When Luo Qiu slept, he truly slept—something he had never abandoned. Unless necessary, he would not wake before his biological clock.
“From here to the tunnel entrance is still some distance. She seemed afraid of missing the shuttle,” Miss Maid said, smoothing Boss Luo’s clothes to satisfaction. “Also, Miss Ren called half an hour ago.”
Luo Qiu nodded casually. “Probably about the terrorist attacks. What did you tell her?”
Miss Maid smiled. “I said you hadn’t woken yet, and that nothing unusual happened in Foggy City last night. She was still worried though—she’s probably fallen asleep by now.”
After all, there was an eight-hour time difference.
“I’ll message her later,” Luo Qiu said, starting on the hotel breakfast while planning their departure from Foggy City.
However, the train schedule showed several major routes suspended today—including the one Luo Qiu intended to take.
“Seems to be because of the terrorist attacks,” Miss Maid said while buttering bread. “But suddenly suspending these routes for several days may mean the next target will be along them.”
Luo Qiu asked curiously, “How do you know there’ll be another attack?”
You Ye replied casually, “Attack first, then make demands—it’s a normal pattern. Besides, no terrorist organization has claimed responsibility for last night’s attack, which means the force behind the scene hasn’t reached an agreement with the government yet.”
“Or maybe demands were made, but the government chose not to disclose them?”
“That still means no agreement,” Miss Maid said matter-of-factly. “Otherwise, why suddenly suspend these routes? They must be deploying something. Perhaps they already know the enemy’s next move and are preparing a counterstrike. In any case, this probably isn’t an ordinary terrorist group… especially after last night at Foggy City Eye.”
Luo Qiu blinked. Last night… riding the Ferris wheel had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, yet it seemed to have inadvertently disrupted the attackers’ plans.
The suspended routes might be related to the assailant Miss Maid shot down last night. Perhaps the Knight Bureau had already extracted intelligence.
“In that case,” Luo Qiu thought for a moment, “let’s postpone the trip. I’m sure Peter Chen wouldn’t mind me staying a couple more days.”
After all, coordinated terrorist attacks had occurred in four cities at the same time last night. The entire country had been tense since then.
Song Imperial Dynasty Hotel had tightened security starting last night.
“So we’re staying in the hotel today as well?” You Ye asked softly.
Luo Qiu smiled. “Just leave two projections here. Since we’re staying a few more days anyway, why not do something else today?”
“Like what?”
“How about the opera?” Luo Qiu said, pointing to a flyer tucked into the travel brochure.
Miss Maid pulled it out and looked at the poster. “Turandot.”
…
…
St. Pancras Railway Station.
In the waiting hall, a small figure weaved through the crowd with remarkable agility, often snatching something from shop fronts at lightning speed when no one noticed.
Each time, it took only a little—very little.
After a while, it stopped its petty theft and slipped into an emergency passage. Twisting and turning through corridors, it finally reached a machine room and crawled inside through a nearby ventilation duct.
Inside, Oga heard the sound and hurriedly stood up.
Miss Lale, the beastwoman, jumped down from the vent. She shook her clothes in front of Oga, and bits and pieces immediately fell to the floor.
Bread, candy, chocolate… and finally Miss Lale even pulled out a large bottle of water from her collar. “Here, eat. You didn’t have anything this morning—you must be starving.”
“Sis, you eat too!”
They sat down on the floor and began eating their “loot.” While chewing on a hot dog bun, Oga asked, “Sis, how much longer until we can get on the train?”
“Soon. The train leaves at two in the afternoon.” Lale wiped the sauce from Oga’s lips with her sleeve. “I’ve checked—there’s a ventilation duct here that leads to the tracks. When it’s about time, we’ll climb down and board from the tracks. Once we’re on, we’ll sneak into the freight car. If everything goes smoothly, it’ll only take two or three hours to reach Paris.”
As he ate, Oga suddenly asked, “Sis, aren’t we going to look for Father anymore?”
Faced with her brother’s question, Lale fell silent. There was something she hadn’t told the magician who helped them—the details of how she and Oga had been captured by beastman traffickers.
She shook her head, pulled Oga into her arms, and said softly, “This place is too dangerous. Let’s go back… If that man really cared about us, we wouldn’t need to look for him. He should come back on his own.”
Oga lowered his head, lost in thought.
Seeing this, Lale forced a smile. “Oga, look what I brought back for you!”
She took a small object from her back pocket and waved it in front of him.
“A harmonica!”
Placing the delicate harmonica into Oga’s hands, Lale said softly, “Didn’t you lose yours on the ship? I thought this one was pretty nice. Do you like it?”
“Mm!”
Oga couldn’t put it down. After wiping it a few times on his clothes, he raised it to his lips and began to play—the tune he had learned from Will the night before, though he only knew half of it.
The Ancient Scenery of My Homeland.
…
…
Elizabeth Tower—formerly known as Big Ben.
On the observation deck’s railing, clear notes flowed from the harmonica held in a man’s hands. The continuous melody was Imagine.
He had thin lips and flaxen hair. Not muscular, but tall and slender, he wore a deep blue outfit in Baroque style—like a stage actor, though clearly out of place in this era.
“Imagine…”
Another man approached slowly. He was the bartender from the tavern that Mr. Red, a senior member of Doomsday Myth, had once visited. Standing beside the harmonica player, he said, “John Lennon—I thought you didn’t like modern music.”
The man continued playing until the piece ended, then lowered the harmonica and looked at the bartender. “Dobas, still no news about Red?”
Dobas shook his head. “According to the original plan, Red was responsible for Foggy City Eye. Obviously, he failed… It’s very likely he’s already fallen into the hands of the Foggy City Knight Bureau. They may even have learned something from him.”
The man shook his head. “I trust Red. He has Gillian’s mental protection on him. No one can bypass a psychic witch’s power to interrogate someone—especially someone with a strong will.”
“In fact, I have reservations about that psychic witch,” Dobas said calmly. “Since the plan began, I haven’t been able to contact her. Sir, we don’t even know her true intentions.”
“Whether she’s sincerely helping us or has her own agenda doesn’t affect the plan itself,” he replied. “But since Red is missing, move the timetable forward.”
“In three days?” Dobas frowned. “The British government might not accept that.”
“What we need isn’t their compromise—it’s fear.”
He gazed toward Buckingham Palace, where the Queen resided. “We’ve been hiding like rats for too long. Only fear will give us real land to live on. Brexit has passed—this country’s future will be isolated and helpless. This will be our best opportunity. A nation where beastmen can live freely under the sun… Dobas, can you see it?”
“Caesar…”
“Three p.m. Advance the plan,” he said, turning away with a sharp wave of his hand. “Let the Myth of Doomsday spread from here!”
…
…
Her Majesty’s Theatre.
Buying tickets in advance was never a problem—for Miss Maid, it was simply impossible. Any place that couldn’t admit her master carried original sin.
“It’s not that serious…”
Luo Qiu lightly squeezed Miss Maid’s hand and led her with the crowd into the theater.
There was still more than half an hour before the performance began.
Yet even with tickets, entry was far from smooth. Accustomed to his constitution, Boss Luo felt no emotional fluctuation while passing through layers of security.
The strict checks weren’t a consequence of last night’s attacks—it was simply because a major figure was attending today.
Her Majesty the Queen of the British Empire.
Ordinary people wouldn’t know that the Queen had no real interest in attending the opera at such a time. Her presence was the decision of her advisers: in moments like these, the Queen, as a national symbol, must not appear panicked. She had to act as though nothing had happened, so the public wouldn’t overestimate the severity of the attacks.
In short: putting on a show of calm.
“I really should finish paying this year’s salaries and send these people back to their hometowns,” the Queen muttered as she entered, holding her beloved pet, whispering to her personal guard, Lancelot.
(End of Chapter)
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