Chapter 167: Beika Town, Your King Has Returned!
Ever since Conan could remember, he knew that anything related to crime and criminal investigation in this world was exceptionally popular. The exact reason was unknown, but as a fact of life, there seemed to be no room to question it. His father, Yusaku Kudo, had become a world-renowned grand author through mystery novels and the "Night Baron" IP, pushing his mother Yukiko's career to new heights.
Because of this, concepts like "The Perfect Crime" were trendy and widespread. Many mystery writers and real-life criminals were obsessed with achieving it. Having been immersed in this environment—and having solved countless cases himself—Conan was no stranger to the idea.
The "Perfect Crime" is both difficult and easy. It is essentially a concept with various methods of execution.
The first type involves the culprit hiding the crime so thoroughly that the victim's death appears accidental, or making the body vanish entirely. Every year, over three million people disappear globally; these are the ultimate perfect crimes because, without knowledge of the event, there is no investigation. This success depends on social stability and the reach of judicial power. In a war-torn country, a cold case isn't "mysterious"—it's simply ignored.
The second type doesn't hide the crime but uses brute force or legal loopholes to make it unsolvable. This includes nomadic "hit-and-run" serial killings that leave no clues, or the infamous Japanese cannibal who killed abroad and used family wealth to bribe his way out after ten months, eventually writing eighteen books and appearing on cooking shows. Then there are those who "commit suicide" with a dozen bullets in their back after offending powerful figures—a method so despicable it barely qualifies as "crime," insulting those who actually use their wits to battle the law.
The third type involves "flowery" techniques—locked-room murders, framing others, or staged supernatural events. Most of the cases Conan solved in the past fell into this category. These usually fail under close scrutiny; as long as the police aren't lazy, the trick eventually unravels.
Conan had always believed the Perfect Crime was impossible. But the crime forged by the old man was different from all three.
The culprit was dead, leaving only a blessing condensed from thought and a curse forged from a wish. It had created a self-sustaining memetic engine that continued to exist as the core of the case. The culprit's soul was gone, but the crime obtained eternal life. In this case, everyone was a killer empowered by the Mark, yet also a victim bound by its curse.
Conan knew the truth, the motive, and the process. But he didn't know how to "solve" it. Before the old man sublimated the riot into this "Perfect Version," it could have been stopped. Now, it was too late. The Blood Oath mark had rooted itself into the social phenomenon of "The Homeless."
Technically, there was a way to solve it. When Ichigo Kurosaki said he could suppress all of Japan, Conan seriously considered it for a heartbeat. His "World-Shaking Deductive Wisdom" confirmed that seizing state power was the only credible solution.
As a lone detective, he was powerless. But as the ruler of a nation with 300,000 police officers at his beck and call, Conan could crush this "Calamity-tier" case before it ever left Beika.
However, he decided that was a bit too "wild." Even if Yusaku had taught him statecraft in Hawaii, solving the fundamental social issues of the elderly and the destitute was a distant goal. Moreover, using an alien's iron fist to usurp the throne was legally dubious and would trigger a global "Super Rumbling" operation where Conan would have to stare at the ocean and whisper, "The enemy is across the sea."
The image was too abstract. Conan vetoed his own thought.
But his perspective had shifted. If he couldn't use the power of the State, he would use the Power of Darkness. In the name of the Distillery, Conan's spirit reached out to "negotiate" with the skeletal beast-head mark.
This wasn't an empty request. At this moment, Conan exerted every ounce of his will to simulate Gin.
Perhaps it was his time spent undercover as Gin's intern, or his memory of the previous world line. Whatever the source, Conan successfully channeled Gin's unique aura: an ultimate killing intent. Unlike Ran's frantic, self-destructive madness, Gin's intent was cold as ice, hard as iron, and possessed an unnamable "Weight."
In reality, Gin—still speeding toward Beika in his Porsche—sensed something. He said nothing, simply closing his eyes for a moment.
Within the illusory space of the mark, a silver-haired man in a black trench coat manifested behind Conan's spirit like a Stand. He raised a gun, pointing it at the beast-head with peerless killing intent.
"Friend or enemy. Choose."
Conan wasn't using this for mere deterrence. He remembered the final battle of the last world line. When Gin had charged through the darkness against Conan (then the "All-Evil of the World"), he had carried a certain "Light." To Conan now, Gin was a hero who could shoulder everything and become a beacon for others, regardless of whether that light was "Black" or "White."
Conan was borrowing that heroic stance. His "message" to the mark was: In the name of the Distillery, by the honor of Gin, and by the credit of the intern Edogawa Conan—submit! If you submit, I will shoulder your burden!
The mark had no sentience, but as a memetic engine, it was both rigid and flexible. Infected by Ichigo's "Purity" virus, it was already susceptible. The communication was a success.
Faintly, Conan saw the old man again. He wasn't kind or gentle; he was the fierce Vajra of the underworld in his prime. He gave Conan a thumbs-up and whispered: "I trust you..."
It was a flash of an image, gone in a second. But the result was born.
The mark on the Giant's hand evolved into a savage, skeletal beast-head—the crown of the Legion's King. Conan was now the most cursed man in the network, but also the most blessed.
Conan gave a bitter smile. "Old man... you were actually serious back then."
During the confrontation with the punks, the old man had called Conan the "Next King." Conan thought it was a bluff, but the childless old man had truly looked at him with the hope of a successor. The riot had to happen; the "old dog" had to die. But the unfinished future was for youth like Conan to carry.
The plan had moved to stage two. Conan pushed his spirit into the crime network, beginning the infiltration.
His experience as Moriarty in the last world line helped him understand how to "Dominate" a crime. This was his true deductive strategy—or rather, his criminal plan.
Since the mark was an independent memetic engine, even a resurrected old man couldn't stop it. If he had God-tier power, Conan could try to punch the case to death as a detective. Lacking that, he had to take it over from the inside.
Infiltrate. Lurk. Usurp. Using his peerless criminal wisdom, he would dominate and remodel the case.
You thought the culprit was the old man? Wrong! The mastermind is me, Edogawa Conan!!!
Conan felt a twinge of sorrow. In the last world line, he was a beacon of light. Now, forced by circumstance, his moral baseline was plummeting. He was using methods he once detested with ease. He had grown up. Faced with a calamity and uncounted potential deaths, he would not keep his hands clean. He would march through the mud.
Remodeling wouldn't be easy. The "Homeless Riot" root could not be changed. But everything else was up for grabs. He agreed with Mo Yu: the old man's plan had high purity but poor execution. The goals were vague.
Conan imagined a humorous scene: the old man succeeds in sacrificial summoning, and a God-like "Extreme Evil Shinichi" appears, holding the old man's ashes and shouting: "Old man, what the hell do you want me to do? Build a homeless utopia? Force the government to give you benefits? Give every bum super-strength? Speak to me!"
The old man had the execution to cut people down but lacked the strategic mind for a mature criminal agenda. That oversight was Conan's playground.
"I say: all successful crimes must be distanced from rage and passion. They must be driven by perfect planning and thought..."
Conan's will, buffed by the King's Mark, swept through the network like a storm. To the Legion members, his voice wasn't that of a child, but an eldritch, majestic command—the voice of a god-demon glimpsed in a lightning strike within a pitch-black temple.
Their erupting ferocity was replaced by a cold, absolute submission. As criminals, they bowed to the Uncrowned King.
Conan didn't realize he had a "+100% Deterrence" buff. He only felt the ease of control. He had to act fast before the memetic mark grew too large to manage. This was organizational entropy; a small group is a monolith, but a large one is full of friction.
"I say: all successful crimes require logistics. And logistics requires a steady territory to operate..."
Under Conan's will, the Criminal Mist stopped expanding and began to carve out specific streets in Beika. These areas were stripped from reality and transformed into a Criminal Domain!
First, Conan put a "Lock" on the case. The terror of a Calamity-tier case is its spread. If it left Beika, it would be a disaster for Japan; if it left Japan, a catastrophe for the world. Conan locked it inside the city.
Of course, a "Calamity" locked in a single city means the pressure builds. Beika's title as the Capital of Crime was about to level up. But as the saying goes: When you owe a billion, you don't worry about the interest. Beika was already "hospitable." If it became a bit more "Gotham-speedrunning-into-Yharnam," so be it.
Conan worked with lightning speed.
In reality, the battle between the Giant and the Magical Girl continued. Out of the 146 seconds Ichigo Kurosaki had allotted, 46 were spent on the old man and thinking. He had 100 seconds left to "enjoy" the intense killing intent of the Magical Girl.
He wasn't disappointed. Twenty seconds into the fight, the surprise arrived.
The Magical Girl's visor split, revealing rows of fangs. With a murderous shriek, her body shuddered, sprouting multiple arms of various sizes. They brandished whips, syringes, pistols, wrenches, knives, and law books thick as bricks. Combined with the invisible "Blade of Slaughter," a barrage of lethal moves rained down upon the Giant of Light!
End of Chapter
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