After Herman also passed the ‘test’, the attitude of the officials eased considerably, and the restrictions on the two were lifted.
A moment later, Herman led the way to the rooms of the other missing persons.
In the dining hall, only Loshi, the unconscious Hannah Carter, and the chain-wielding lady, Yvette Lamb, remained.
They called it protection, but in reality, it was just ‘supervision’.
Clearly, these people hadn’t completely believed the ‘testimony’ just now.
Yvette didn’t seem like a talkative person, or perhaps that was their rule—to minimize communication with ‘suspects’.
After such an up-and-down day, Loshi felt things had finally settled.
The string in her mind was no longer taut; she just felt incredibly tired and didn’t bother to probe for information anymore.
This silence lasted for a while, until some noisy conversation came from the doorway.
“Officer, is it really over?”
“The culprit is Miss Carter?”
“But she…”
“Mr. Nell, the case is still under investigation. There’s no definite conclusion yet.”
“But rest assured, your personal safety will be guaranteed by us.”
“So when can we leave this place?”
“By the Truth!”
“Officer Mitchellson, my wife, my children are still waiting for their husband, their father to come home.”
Hearing Dewitt’s voice, Loshi’s expression grew a little odd.
This guy probably didn’t know yet that the ‘Mr. Reese’ by his side was actually someone his wife had hired to catch his mistress.
He might not even have time to warm the seat at home before receiving a divorce agreement from Mrs. Nell.
Harvey Mitchellson walked into the dining hall, glanced at Hannah Carter, who was still unconscious under the influence of the Artifact of Slumber, withdrew his gaze, nodded to his colleagues, then walked to the center of the room and clapped his hands.
“Ladies and gentlemen.”
“I sympathize deeply with all that you’ve been through—it pains me.”
“By the Truth, we will make sure the criminal receives the punishment they deserve.”
As Harvey Mitchellson spoke, he touched his forehead and chest, then pressed his palm to his left shoulder.
“Don’t worry. Next, you only need to sign a ‘Contract’ to prove there’s nothing wrong with your faith.”
After speaking, Marlon Reed stepped forward from behind him, pulling out a stack of papers from inside his coat.
“There’s no need to hide your true beliefs.”
“Even if you don’t worship the Church of Destiny.”
“As long as it’s a legal, official church, we will provide you with protection.”
Harvey added, then pulled out a sheet and, along with a pen that appeared out of nowhere, handed them to the young lady of the Viscount Morton family, who was nearest to him.
“Please, Miss Morton.”
Faith?
She wasn’t even from this world. If she had to come up with something, considering the annual dues she paid, she might as well believe in the color red.
By the Truth, by the Truth—who said you couldn’t become a follower of the Church of Destiny right after converting?
When she got home, she’d definitely persuade Viscount Morton to donate to the Church of Truth.
Muttering in her heart, Loshi reached out and took the ‘Contract’.
She scanned the page; the content was simple, and there were only two places to fill in.
First, the name of the church she believed in.
Second, her own name.
After a brief hesitation, Loshi put pen to paper.
Church of faith: Church of Truth. Signature: Loshi Morton.
As she finished the last stroke, she suddenly felt a chill run down her spine, as if she was being scrutinized by someone.
Luckily, that feeling of being watched lasted only a moment before everything returned to normal.
Good thing—the one who signed was Loshi Morton, which had nothing to do with Lin Yu.
With an unchanged expression, Loshi handed the Contract and pen back to Harvey Mitchellson.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Morton.”
Harvey nodded, then turned his gaze to the side. “Next, if you would, Mr. Hughes.”
So, the signing order was based on level of suspicion.
Herman’s injured left hand had already been simply treated, his torn shirt tied across his chest and the end knotted around his neck, making him look quite pitiful.
But his mental state was pretty good.
There was still a hint of laziness in his eyes and brows.
Hearing the call, he didn’t say much, simply picked up the pen, and, without acting like an outsider, used Officer Harvey’s shoulder as support and signed his name with a few swift strokes.
Still, nothing happened.
While the others were still busy, Herman came over to Loshi and smiled at her.
“See, I told you, didn’t I? Happy cooperation—we both got out safely.”
Loshi glanced at him. “Am I that familiar with you, Mr. Hughes?”
She deliberately emphasized the ‘Hugh’ part.
“Hughes, Reese, Lais—it’s all the same, just like Mr. Sunbeck. You won’t remember anyway.”
“Miss Morton can just call me Herman.”
Herman seemed offhandedly to add, “If you ever need anything solved, you can find me at 13 Meyer Street, Redbridge District.”
“As a friend, I can give you a discount.”
So, he’s telling me where to find him in the future.
Loshi’s mind stirred.
She’d kept the details of her cooperation with Herman hidden, so she couldn’t ask for the antidote in front of the officials.
Whatever his reasons, he was tacitly cooperating with her.
Maybe Herman wanted to enter Breadk’s noble circle not just for money or power, but for something more secretive.
For this goal, he was even willing to take some risks to help her cover up part of the “truth”.
Of course, for her, that was a good thing.
As she was pondering this, suddenly, a shrill voice echoed through the empty dining hall.
Startled, Loshi turned toward the source of the sound.
Bev Hardy, the young lady, was clutching her head with both hands, her nails digging into her delicate cheeks and leaving bloody lines.
Her mouth was wide open, making a hoarse noise.
A bulge appeared and disappeared at her throat, as if something was trying to crawl out.
Yvette Lamb’s brown eyes took on a bluish tint.
She stretched out her hand, spreading her index finger, middle finger, and thumb toward Bev Hardy, and softly uttered a word.
“Contract.”
Chains, hovering between the real and the unreal, once again emerged from the void, coiling around the arms Bev used to clutch her face, like agile snakes.
The woman’s grip was so strong that bloody shreds of flesh stuck under her nails.
Blood streamed down Bev Hardy’s cheeks, yet bizarrely formed a symbol, slowly spreading toward her neck.
Dewitt was already scared witless.
Watching his once lovely bedmate turn into this, he felt terror reach its peak, his heart pounding so hard it seemed about to leap out of his chest.
“Urgh!”
He bent over, dry heaving, his mouth filling with a sweet, metallic taste.
Dewitt stared at the ground, at what he had just vomited up.
That was—
Half a decayed heart.