Wow...

In the office area of ​​the Order of the Ninth Parish Street, in Sherlock's forest hut, the dim lights in the bathroom sway slightly, and the faucets of the washbasin were flowing with clear water.

Sherlock took off the dirty clothes on his body, leaving only the white shirt and shorts, leaned over under the veil, and happily washed the sweat and stains on his face.

The six of them hurried back to Bojinhan and returned to their respective places.

Rhineters and Allen went to the ruling office of the Omniscient Church in First Diocese Street to report on the emergencies in Cindyri Farm.

Rooney, Origan, Van Tucker, and the three of them went home.

Sherlock's first time entering the door was to clean himself quickly.

Looking at the image of the surviving disaster reflected in the mirror on the wall, Sherlock laughed at himself.

He never thought that he would encounter such a terrible incident as Cindyri on his first field mission. Although he was protected throughout the whole process, he was not hurt.

But when I think back on the whole process, I recall the scenes I saw with my own eyes, those terrifying and disgusting inhuman monsters, the bloodthirsty madness that was so close, the panic experience of being chased and fleeing...

If you are not afraid at all, it is a lie! As a simple time traveler, a young man who is not ready to fight in another world, Sherlock feels that he has done a good job without falling behind and dragging his feet when he escapes...

After all, his extraordinary abilities have nothing to do with physical strengthening. Besides, he does not have any ability or experience in fighting. As a keyboard warrior, he doesn't even know how to hold a gun and shoot...

Sherlock smiled self-deprecatingly while carefully scrubbing the stains on his body. Until he felt clean and comfortable, he soaked his clothes in a wooden tub and changed into his dry pajamas again.

Holding the gas lamp covered with an iron glass, Sherlock returned to the bedroom, sat cross-legged on the bed, placing the antique book in front of him.

It is still the same small book of quaint, old, and decadent texture. Even only Sherlock himself can see the handwriting after opening, and others hold it in his hand, it is just an antique book.

After taking a deep breath, Sherlock turned the first page.

Crack, hiss...the page flips and makes a weird sound like tearing the membrane.

The first page is still covered with obscure and strange strange patterns, as if it is a page where millions of blood vessels gather.

An invisible smell of decay seemed to be enveloping it.

Each word is twisting and squirming, making people feel illusioned.

"Praise the essence of nirvana and decay, and praise all areas of darkness and dusk - the Shadow Parliament of the Doomsday. Gul'dan, the Withering."

Sherlock stared at the ending name, took a deep breath, and was about to continue to flip back, but his hand stopped.

This is the territory of the ninth diocese of the Omniscient Church!

Is it too risky to open a book with a hidden evil here?

Sherlock thought for a while and took out the golden rose pocket watch from under the pillow.

"All items on me can be taken to the world in the mirror. It is better to read antique books there, which are safe and controllable enough!"

After making a decision, the gold rose pocket watch opened with a click.

He stared at the thick fog surrounding the mirror of the inner cover and began to recite silently:

"The Creator of the Old Day was here, and the Creator of the Old Day is here, and the Creator of the Old Day will be there forever..."

Recite the syllables of the last word.

Sherlock's eyes were shrouded in darkness.

The air becomes viscous, cold, deep, and far...

Sherlock became erratic and rose in the vast space.

A vast and magnificent boundless realm began to appear in front of you.

He sat on a bronze seat that stood in a huge position, like a royal throne. It was like a monarch descending, examining the neatly arranged "mirror" around him.

There are countless "mirrors", clearly scattered around the bronze seats, surrounded by strange but quiet fog.

Then, under countless mirrors, an independent gathering area was opened. Four classical and exquisite seats made of gold appeared and disappeared in the mist.

Sherlock withdrew his gaze and looked at the small antique book in his hand.

The first page is still open.

But in this "World in the Mirror", the decay originally shrouded in the first page, as well as the dark, strange and difficult to understand, were greatly weakened and almost no longer appeared.

Sherlock took action with peace of mind and opened the second page.

On the page, there is a large vortex formed by countless black lines and black mists, floating like breathing, lifelike.

A line of ancient Ibiya Celtic text appears next to it:

"Dedicate your flesh and blood and soul to the ancient tombs buried deep in history..."

Apart from that, there was no abnormal movement.

The vortex did not jump out and turned into black water, nor did the white bone altar appear.

Everything was normal, and the second page was displayed in front of Sherlock.

"Um?"

Sherlock scratched his head with his fingers.

This is a bit unreasonable... Judging from the experience I have obtained in the underground tomb of Cindyri Farm, something is definitely absorbed by antique books.

Sherlock thought about it, but he had no idea how to deal with the situation in front of him. Originally, in his vision, when he turned on the second page, something must have happened.

At this moment, the third page moved slightly, and it was actually squirming and turning it open by itself.

On this third page, the first line of Guybiya Celtic text:

"The end of all things and souls, leading to the other side of the world..."

Below the handwriting is a "mirror" that occupies the entire page.

The square "mirror" is like being embedded on the page, reflecting Sherlock's surprised appearance, which is completely a normal mirror.

"this......"

Sherlock has had countless ideas, countless speculations, and even exaggeratedly believe that it will reveal a group of terrifying and terrifying evil spirits that cause disasters...

But unexpectedly, I took out a mirror...

"The end of the soul of all things? The other side of the world?" Sherlock frowned and pondered the passage, feeling that it was meaningful, as if it was talking about the "underworld"?

From the meaning of the Song of Creation, we can know that the soul of all things is the underworld. It can also be called the other side of the world...

Just as Sherlock was reasoning, he itched before his forehead.

A hair fell and fell on the mirror, instantly melting and sinking into sight.

Sherlock's eyelids hopped, and he thought for a while, trying to stretch out a finger to touch this "mirror".

Huh?

When the fingers touched the mirror, they immediately seemed to sink into the water and actually reached into it!

Sherlock could feel that the top of his finger was poked in some cold "water", and there was still a feeling in the "inside" of the mirror, not being swallowed up.

He thought for a while, let go of his courage, and continued to reach out to the mirror.

All five fingers sink into...

The wrist sinks...

The arm sinks into...

Sherlock gritted his teeth and continued to lean in.

A cold gust was like the wet wind in late autumn, blowing on Sherlock. He was like a fish, and he couldn't help but completely integrate into the "mirror".

Just effortlessly, he had already gotten in!

Nothing scary happened, it was like lifting a curtain and walking into the feeling of being outside a house in late autumn.

The sight in front of me quickly changed from darkness to brightness.

With great doubts, nervousness, anxiety, and full of expectations, Sherlock began to observe the surroundings carefully.

He found himself standing at the intersection of a street.

There are messy houses everywhere, with height and height. From the perspective of architectural form, these houses are old styles from Britain hundreds of years ago and are completely incompatible with the present.

There are no high-rod gas street lights, no carriages, and no pedestrian vendors on the street. There are no tall buildings, and all buildings seem to be covered with a layer of dust, dull and old. There is a mottled and fallen feeling everywhere, and the color looks even more gray.

The light in the environment is also hazy and awkward, just like observing the world through a layer of dusty glass. The air is pretty good, and there is no smell of haze or factory workshop smoke and dust.

Sherlock touched his face and body, just like sitting on the bed in the bedroom, with a white shirt, a thin cloth nightgown and pajamas, and it was completely real.

He tried to walk a few steps, and on the quiet street, hissing sounds made by slippers. He seemed to be the only one in this whole street.

"Where is this? Is it really the underworld?"

Sherlock walked forward in confusion, looking around, looking for the answer.

He was sure that he should still be in the British territory. Although the architectural styles around him were extremely old, as a top student in history and archaeology, he could recognize it as British architecture in the old era.

But as for whether it is the so-called "underworld", Sherlock cannot be sure. Because few people probably know what the "underworld" looks like.

"Um?"
To be continued...