Silas pondered how to write the letter in a way that would best communicate with this Mr. Sherlock.
On one hand, if the other person truly was a transmigrator, this letter had to immediately catch his attention upon reading it, while also making it clear that it was sent by a fellow transmigrator testing the waters.
On the other hand, if he wasn't a transmigrator, the letter couldn't expose anything; it had to appear perfectly normal to ordinary people.
After careful consideration, he decided to start with the name.
This detective was called Sherlock Moriarty, so he would borrow the remaining surname and given name, writing the sender's name as "James Holmes."
That way, the other person would definitely sense something was off at first glance.
Next, he deliberated carefully for a long while before finally managing to finish writing the letter with some difficulty.
"All done, brother?"
The black-haired girl beside him had finished cutting fresh fish meat and brought it over on a plate.
"Done."
Silas immediately closed the letter.
For some reason, he felt a bit guilty and didn't want Cecilia to see its contents.
He folded the letter, stuffed it into an envelope, wrote "James Holmes" on it, then tucked it into his pocket.
A large plate of fresh fish was placed before him. Silas lowered his head, bringing his face close.
The fish meat quickly dissolved, as if turning into liquid, surging up onto Silas's face and merging with him, becoming part of his body.
A whole large plate of fish was devoured completely by Silas in a very short time.
"Alright, let's go."
Feeling the fullness of flesh and blood within his body, Silas nodded with satisfaction and spoke to his sister.
The two stood up from the sofa, left the apartment, and locked the door.
After dropping the letter in a nearby mailbox, they hired a carriage and headed toward the Remann Gang's former headquarters.
"By the way, Cecilia, how's the digestion of your Assassin potion going?"
Silas asked.
"Not fully digested yet," she replied.
"Try to digest it quickly. I'll see if I can get you the Sequence 8 'Instigator' potion."
"Mm, brother, there's no rush for me."
She didn't seem particularly concerned.
"Let's prioritize treating your mental condition."
The two chatted casually in the carriage, which soon arrived at its destination.
"Sir, you want to get off here?"
After arriving, the coachman asked hesitantly.
"That's right."
Silas nodded.
The coachman's expression became helpless, but he didn't ask anything more, not until Silas handed over a 1-soli note.
"This is..."
"Fare."
Silas said curtly, getting out of the carriage with his sister.
Perhaps some gang members had previously taken rides without paying, leaving the coachman with psychological trauma, which would explain that expression.
After walking a few steps and looking up, they could see that the Remann Gang headquarters had been cleaned up and was no longer as chaotic as that night.
Stepping inside, they could see thugs in twos and threes drinking together or boasting loudly.
Seeing Silas enter, these guys immediately put on fierce expressions.
"Where did this little..."
"Bang!"
"Mr. Anderson!"
A hoodlum who had been the first to challenge them hadn't finished speaking before being knocked down with a single punch by the burly man beside him.
That person looked at Silas with reverence and gratitude, speaking respectfully.
Oh, this guy was one of those who came to my place that night. I think I saved his brother.
Silas vaguely recalled who he was and nodded. "Where's Charles?"
"Boss... the boss is in the office," the man replied.
Office?
Silas thought to himself, there's only one office here, isn't there?
Under the watchful eyes of many thugs, the two walked straight into the gang leader's office.
"Which fool doesn't know to... Mr. Anderson!"
Inside the office, Charles, hearing someone enter without knocking, seemed quite displeased.
But when he looked up and saw the visitor's face, his attitude immediately changed drastically.
He came around from behind the desk and personally welcomed Silas inside.
"Not bad, Mr. Charles. You've risen to gang leader."
"Not at all, not at all. It's just the brothers looking out for me and recommending me for the position. Would you like something to drink?"
Charles's face showed some pride.
After the Aurora Order announced that he was the one who had attacked the ambassador, both MI9 and Intis lost interest in the Remann Gang, so Charles had secretly returned to his territory with his underlings.
Due to the previous battle, his subordinates had been saved by Silas and most had survived.
And because other gangs, especially the Zmangel Party, had suffered severe losses and been forced to contract, he had somehow become the largest force, becoming the new boss of the Remann Gang and seizing a large amount of territory in one go.
However, although Charles was riding high for the moment, he hadn't forgotten Silas's divine might that night, and his attitude toward Silas had become even more respectful.
"No need to trouble yourself. I'm here today because I want you to help me with something."
Silas said briefly, "Help me keep an eye out for missing persons on the streets."
He wanted to use the Remann Gang to investigate the human trafficking case. These guys were local snakes and should be very familiar with the situation at the bottom levels.
After all, the outcome of this case was connected to a powerful Beyonder item very suitable for him, so he did care about it.
"Of course, no problem."
Charles thumped his chest in assurance. A
fter a moment, he spoke again with a respectful smile, "Mr. Anderson, can we still come to you for treatment in the future?"
While he said treatment, he probably also intended to use Silas's power to develop his influence.
Don't underestimate the greed of these scoundrels; they would only show a friendly attitude to the strong.
As for the weak, they would treat them like they had the young landlord back then, using fraud, intimidation, murder, anything and everything, just to squeeze profit from them.
"The price will go up in the future," Silas said, sneering inwardly.
Want to use me? First try to stay alive.
The investigation into missing persons would attract whoever was behind it all.
The entire Remann Gang might end up in trouble, but who told him he wanted to use his power as well?
After casually exchanging a few more words with Charles, Silas left.
***
The next morning, in the Jowood District, 15 Minsk Street.
Detective Sherlock, who had risen early (that is, Klein Moretti), cracked an egg with one hand and skillfully poured the liquid into a frying pan.
"Sizzle..."
A delicious aroma filled the air.
While it was heating, he began looking through the items he'd retrieved from the mailbox.
Besides the newspapers he subscribed to daily, there were also several letters addressed to him.
As he gradually made a name for himself in Backlund, some clients had already started writing to contact him in advance.
Klein multitasked, flipping the fried egg while examining these letters.
Suddenly, his hand jerked violently.
"Splat!"
The fried egg slid along the edge of the pan and fell directly onto the floor.
However, Klein, who always cherished food, didn't even bother with the egg.
Instead, he dropped the frying pan, grabbed the letter with both hands, and, as if possessed, looked at the envelope over and over again.
There, clearly written on the envelope, were the sender's name and address:
James Holmes.
221B Baker Street.