Faced with Morey's straightforward words, Goethe didn't feel any displeasure.
Because Goethe knew very well that what the other person said was true.
Moreover, he had no reason to refuse.
Unless he wanted to face an even stronger enemy, one who wielded unknown powers, all by himself.
It was mostly luck that allowed him to defeat the previous opponent.
Firstly, he had the advantage of terrain.
Secondly, the opponent lacked experience.
Now, his adversary was the teacher of that opponent, a far more powerful and experienced enemy, and Goethe knew he wasn't confident in facing such a foe.
So—
"Alright."
Goethe nodded.
"Good, I wish us a pleasant collaboration."
"At 8 a.m. tomorrow morning, someone from Black Sail Security Company will inform you of further arrangements."
After speaking, Morey glanced at the pocket watch in his hand once more, then turned and left without giving Goethe a chance to ask more questions.
Goethe watched Morey's departing figure, his brow slightly furrowed.
There was something strange about Morey.
It felt as if there was an invisible barrier separating him from those around him.
It wasn't the kind of disdain or condescension that some people develop after gaining extraordinary power.
Instead, it was more like...
Unfamiliarity!
He seemed uncomfortable speaking with strangers.
That hurried departure looked more like someone trying to escape after finishing a task.
But,
Could that be possible?
Would someone with extraordinary power, and the official local authority, really be afraid of talking to strangers?
Or was there something else going on?
Goethe speculated, casually setting aside the glass bottle he had been holding.
The bottle was open, with a rag stuffed in the mouth, and filled with kerosene.
It was one of the trump cards Goethe had prepared earlier, but unfortunately, it hadn't been used.
Just like he hadn't used the **Blood Honor**!
However, not using something similar didn't mean he wouldn't need more.
The next moment, Goethe shook off these thoughts and began to crouch down and clean up the battlefield—knowing that a stronger and unknown threat was approaching, making him even more desperate to have more life-saving tricks up his sleeve.
The **Blood Honor** that could instantly make him stronger was naturally his first choice.
Although the collaboration with Morey should provide some safety, Goethe preferred to have his life in his own hands—after all, no one could guarantee that accidents wouldn't happen, and Goethe was well aware of that.
However, it was unfortunate that the gunmen before him had no **Blood Honor** on them.
"My parents, uncles, aunts, cousins, and my aunt weren't killed by these people?"
"Were these people just hired to target me?"
Goethe's brow furrowed unconsciously.
If his guess was correct, the situation would become even more troublesome.
Because the other party wasn't just powerful; they also had a large number of subordinates.
It really was a case of things going from bad to worse!
Goethe sighed and looked at Swart, who was examining the kerosene bottle.
This sheriff, whose pants were still wet, immediately scuttled two steps away like a startled bird, even slipping and falling to the ground.
Coincidentally, he ended up face-to-face with a corpse pinned down by a door panel.
"Ah!"
"Hmm?"
After the scream came a long, drawn-out tone full of confusion.
This caught Goethe's attention.
"Is there something wrong with him?"
Goethe walked over and asked.
"His name is Delber, a wanted criminal with a bounty of 50 gold marks—I'll give you 60 gold marks if you let me have his body!"
Supporting himself with his hands on the floor to keep his face away from the corpse, the sheriff spoke up.
As he spoke, he acted as if Goethe was getting a great deal.
"Oh?"
"This was someone I worked very hard to kill, so..."
"You'll have to add more money!"
Goethe looked at the sheriff, his eyes gleaming.
Almost instinctively, he began to reassess Swart's maximum value—the profession he had engaged in back home made him sensitive to such things, especially when money was involved.
The sheriff felt as if a wolf had its eyes on him.
He squirmed uneasily, but still continued.
"Seventy!"
"Seventy gold marks is my absolute limit. That's all he's worth!"
Swart emphasized.
But this emphasis only made Goethe realize how desperate the sheriff was.
"Is that so?"
Goethe leisurely watched the sheriff, then said directly—
"That's just the official bounty, isn't it?"
"There should be a private bounty as well, right?"
"And..."
"It will also earn you some accolades!"
The private bounty was something Goethe guessed based on his original memories.
The original Goethe had sought help in places like the Hunter's Tavern.
But unfortunately...
Being broke, he couldn't get any help from the hunters.
As for the accolades Goethe mentioned?
If possible, this sheriff would naturally want more power.
Otherwise, he wouldn't have proposed the earlier deal.
"How much do you want?"
Seeing that there was no way to deceive Goethe, the sheriff asked hesitantly.
"One hundred gold marks!"
"Impossi..."
"One hundred gold marks is just the base. If you're willing to pay an extra fifty gold marks, I can testify on your behalf, telling others about your bravery. Of course, you'll need to pay another fifty gold marks to buy a pair of dry pants from me, because a hero shouldn't have wet pants."
Before Swart could finish his exclamation, Goethe interrupted him.
The sheriff fell silent.
There was a clear difference between self-promotion and having someone else testify and speak on your behalf.
More importantly, as Goethe had pointed out, Swart really needed this accolade.
Because his superior, the commissioner, would be retiring in two years!
And he wasn't the only one competing for the position of commissioner. To stand out from the competition, such feats of valor against criminals were indispensable.
With this in mind, the sheriff gritted his teeth.
"Alright!"
Seeing that Swart had agreed, Goethe smiled and said slowly.
"And, help me restore this place to its original state."
"No problem."
Having agreed to the previous terms, Swart didn't care about such trivial matters—after all, once he filed the report, the repair costs could be reimbursed.
But then Goethe continued.
"And..."
"And?"
Swart's eyes widened as he looked at Goethe. He had thought he was greedy, but he hadn't expected this guy to be even greedier.
This was like trying to squeeze water out of a stone!
And why was he so precise in his demands?
"The last two!"
"Help me investigate 'Doctor Hod'—he was my grandfather's personal doctor."
Goethe's smile gradually faded, his eyes growing cold.
Among 'his' relatives, only his grandfather had died suddenly from illness; the rest had 'disappeared.' Moreover, it was after his grandfather's death that the rest of the family began to vanish.
In other words, 'his grandfather' was the beginning of everything.
And it was Doctor Hod who concluded that 'illness' was the cause of death.
The original Goethe had believed this without question.
But now?
Goethe saw it as a breakthrough—a breakthrough to find the **Blood Honor**.
As for why he wanted Swart's help?
He had to go to Black Sail Security Company at dawn and wouldn't have time to investigate.
Moreover, the sheriff's position made it convenient.
Swart's face showed a new struggle.
This sheriff didn't want to get involved in anything beyond ordinary understanding.
But he also realized that if he didn't agree, Goethe wouldn't be bought off with money.
Just look at the hatred in his eyes!
And everything that happened tonight!
Goethe had willingly risked his life to draw out the enemy and then mercilessly killed Delber and his gang!
As for threats of violence?
Not to mention the difference in their combat abilities.
At this moment, in Swart's eyes, Goethe wasn't afraid of death!
Because even after reaching an agreement with Mr. Morey and knowing that cooperation would suffice, he still chose to risk his life to find clues!
It was clear that hatred had become Goethe's reason for living!
Somehow, Swart had formed this impression of Goethe in his mind.
Goethe didn't care about the sheriff's wary yet sympathetic gaze.
In fact, this was exactly what Goethe needed.
He needed to replace the impression that the original 'Goethe' had left on those around him.
And there was no better disguise than that of a vengeful person.
A few changes in behavior or words would instantly seem reasonable under such a pretext.
"What's the last thing?"
Swart didn't immediately agree or refuse; instead, he asked about Goethe's final request.
If it was still excessive, he would refuse outright.
Climbing the ranks was important, but his life was more important.
"The weapons and ammunition on the ground—I need to pick out a few."
Goethe stated his final request.
Swart immediately breathed a sigh of relief.
This was even easier than repairing the damaged house.
As for evidence?
Wasn't that up to him, the sheriff who had killed Delber and his gang?
"Alright, I agree."
"I'll give you the money tomorrow morning!"
"Now..."
"Where are my pants?"
The sheriff asked.
Goethe smiled, turned around, and fetched a pair of pants from his room, tossing them to the sheriff—he wouldn't have any direct contact with the man until he washed his hands.
Then Goethe began selecting weapons from those he had collected earlier.
"These pants don't fit!"
"Damn it!"
"Who would believe that a pair of pants worth fifty gold marks wouldn't fit!"
"Fifty gold marks could buy me twenty pairs of pants from the best tailor shop in Luste!"
---
Next to him, Swart muttered.
"In the desert, a cup of water is far more valuable than gold."
Goethe didn't even lift his head and continued selecting weapons.
Without a doubt, the two revolvers from Delbert were the best. They were well-maintained, gleaming under the candlelight with the unique luster of metal, and the slightly yellowing ivory handles were particularly striking.
Goethe picked up the two revolvers, spun them stylishly, and then directly holstered them into the gun belt under his arms.
This gun belt was also Delbert's, along with the bullet chain that could be concealed within the waistband.
Next, he strapped a sheathed dagger to his calf.
This dagger came from the first assailant Goethe ever killed.
After completing all of this, Goethe couldn't help but sigh with relief at the long-lost sense of security.
At that moment, numerous patrolmen finally arrived on the distant street.
With them were the reporters.
Swart paid no attention to his late-arriving subordinates. Instead, his gaze swept over the reporters as he took a deep breath, mentally reviewing his prepared speech. Then, he walked out with a smile, head held high.
However, the sheriff clearly forgot that his pants didn't fit properly.
And, in his excitement, the sheriff's strides were large and powerful.
So, in the next moment—
Rip!
Amidst the sound of fabric tearing, Swart's smile froze as he clamped his legs together and stood still.
(End of Chapter)
---