When the plot-skips players into the game world

Having said that, he reached out and slowly tapped three times on his own mitre.

The old bishop murmured softly, "May the candles at his grave burn eternally."

"—May his candles burn eternally."

All the guests present bowed their heads in unison, murmuring in chorus, each touching their chest three times.

With that, the main process of the funeral had ended.

What followed was finding someone to close the coffin, bury it in the ground, and then have the Priest bless the land. Those who brought flowers could come forward to offer them, while those who were just there to attend the funeral could now leave or wander around and talk freely.

Under the black umbrella, Aiwass noticed that not far away, Sherlock's mother could no longer hold back her tears. She, too, was in a wheelchair. Unlike Aiwass, she looked haggard, her cheeks gaunt. The middle-aged man with neat black hair and black-framed glasses was quietly comforting her at her side.

—Once this is over, you should let your mom beat the hell out of you to vent her frustration, Aiwass thought.

"Let me handle the flowers."

It was then that a steady voice chimed in, "You're not in good shape yourself, Mr. Aiwass."

Aiwass looked up, the black umbrella tilted slightly backward above him. A hand as wide and plump as a seal's flipper reached in from under the umbrella, gently taking the bouquet he held in his arms.

"Mr. Mycroft."

Aiwass nodded slightly, greeting the newcomer.

This man was Sherlock's most trusted relative, his older brother, Mycroft Hermos.

Aiwass estimated Sherlock's height to be around one meter eighty-three, only a half-inch taller than himself. But Mycroft had to be close to one meter ninety, not much shorter than Edward.

Mycroft was not only taller but also much broader than Sherlock. The only minister of the Hermes family wasn't just big-bellied but visibly fat, even his face was wider. Even the umbrella he carried was a size larger than the others.

Despite this, the obese Mr. Mycroft did not appear ugly.

Aiwass could clearly see the resemblance to Sherlock in his face—even if his cheeks were so round and filled, the depth of his features was still apparent. Mycroft had the same black hair and amber eyes reminiscent of a wolf. His eyes were bright, often reflecting deep thought.

He looked fat, but his body was not clumsy. His quiet steps were nimble and precise; holding such a large umbrella so still with one hand, he showed a balanced and firm strength.

"I heard about you from Sherlock before,"

Mycroft, holding the bouquet in his free hand, looked at Aiwass with a meaningful gaze, "He trusted you a lot."

"I am proud and honored to have such a friend,"

Aiwass said softly, with a faint sadness on his face, "He was a clever and upright man, loyal to the kingdom, loyal to the Queen... but I never thought that it would be his intelligence that led to his own undoing."

"I don't see it that way, Mr. Aiwass. I believe that intelligence is never wrong,"

Mycroft said calmly, "As a victim, Sherlock was completely clean, without a single fault—the mistake obviously lies with those damned thugs."

Although he also knew of Sherlock's feigned death, Mycroft did not put on a show of grief. He appeared calm, as if the funeral were not for his brother but for another person with whom he had no acquaintance.

Given Sherlock's esteem for him, Mycroft would not have failed to consider such a situation. So it could only mean one thing—Mycroft was always out of step with everyone else.

"Rather than a silencing, I'm more inclined to think this was a despicable act of revenge," Aiwass said.

"What incident do you think it might stem from?" Mycroft asked in return.

"The Sweater Brothers Association."

Aiwass lowered his head and said softly, "To be precise, it's from the Alchemical Bombs smuggling case that stemmed from that incident. Sherlock, who was investigating the bombs, was killed by one... I think this is a blatant provocation. From this point of view, it might just be a beginning."

"—Yes, it's not an impossibility,"

Just then, a composed voice arose from beside the two individuals.

Mr. Aiwass looked up, and Lily also raised her umbrella higher, allowing him to see the newcomer clearly.

The man appeared to be at least in his fifties, with clear wrinkles and laugh lines on his face. Even so, his hair hadn't turned white. His golden hair, slicked with oil, was neatly combed back, remaining tidy even on a rainy day. His pupils were not the amber-brown one might expect, but a light, pale blue close to grey.

He wasn't holding an umbrella, and he looked so sorrowful that he seemed somewhat haggard. Although he wore black clothes, Mr. Aiwass still recognized him... This was the man he had seen at the award ceremony, the lawyer in the white suit.

—The legal advisor of the Lohar Society, York Hermes!

"...Uncle York."

Mycroft first glanced at Mr. Aiwass, then nonchalantly turned his head and hugged York deeply.

And York, looking sorrowful as well, hugged Mycroft, who was much larger than he could encompass, and patted his back with force, "Condolences, child."

"Sherlock was a good kid. It's such a shame he died just like that..."

Lawyer York sighed softly, "I had wanted to invite him to join the Lohar Society. If he had entered the Lohar Society, someone would have been able to protect him... Those people would never dare lay a hand on him."

At that moment, Lily suddenly looked up slightly.

She caught a fleeting glint of murderous intent on Mycroft's person. But that feeling vanished in an instant as if it were just an illusion.

And the fat man still looked as benign and kind-hearted as ever.

"The Lohar Society?"

Just then, Mr. Aiwass voiced his confusion appropriately, "Isn't that from the Lohar District..."

"—Nothing but a group of insurers from Lohar District. We are not running a company; we merely provide a space for conversations, purely a civil business organization."

Following Mr. Aiwass's line of thought, York Hermes stepped forward to say.

And Mr. Aiwass showed a puzzled expression, "But I heard that the Lohar Society offers loans at high interest rates..."

"Not at all. Our loan interest rates are entirely within the legal limits set by the kingdom,"

replied Lawyer York.

As he spoke, he handed Mr. Aiwass an opulent business card made of gold paper, "Although you might have heard some rumors, I want to tell you they are not true. They are merely slanders spread by the jealous... I am the legal counselor hired by the Lohar Society, York Hermes, Sherlock's uncle. We met last week—I am a friend of Gordon's, sitting right beside him. The person to your right's right... Do you remember me?"

"I do remember, Mr. York. I've heard Sherlock mention you, too."

Upon hearing this, Mr. Aiwass's face lit up with a touch of friendliness and conviction.

"What did he say?" York paused, then asked.

And Mr. Aiwass's gaze was pure and serious, devoid of any stray thoughts, "He said that you are a kind person who treats people well and has many friends."

"Ah... Thank him for his compliment. It truly is a great pity; Sherlock was a very promising young man..."

Lawyer York lamented sincerely. He truly felt it was a loss.

Mid-sentence, he glanced at Mycroft standing beside him and hesitated as if he had something to say but found it inconvenient at the funeral.

Realizing something, Mr. Aiwass nodded to Mycroft, "Let's talk another time, Mycroft. Please convey my condolences to Sherlock for me.

"I have some things I'd like to discuss with Mr. York. Something about Sherlock's attack doesn't seem right to me."

"Indeed, Sherlock had left a few words for Mr. Aiwass. It's not very convenient here," Lawyer York nodded, cordially beckoning Mr. Aiwass, "Aren't you quite interested in the Lohar Society?

"—Coincidentally, I can take you for a visit. Let's talk at the headquarters of the Lohar Society."