Martial arts is systematic knowledge, and training is an organized life.

–Immanuel Kant

----------------------------------------

“Ugh, when did you arrive, my lord?”

“Have you been asleep all this time? I trust you haven’t offended Yan?”

“Of course not. You said you’d drop me in the medicine box if I slept on the sofa, so I even got permission to lie quietly on the floor.”

A boy around his early teens dressed in a shabby shirt and pants with suspenders.

He had an ill-fitting tie knotted around his arm.

“Let me introduce you. This is Wiggins, the leader of the ‘Baker St. Irregulars’. Wiggins, say hello to Dr. Watson.”

“Hello, Doctor. I’m Wiggins, working under Lord Holmes.”

Wiggins grinned slyly and tipped his hat to greet Watson.

“Ah, yes… Nice to meet you.”

In contrast, Watson’s greeting was extremely awkward.

It seemed she was surprised by the unexpected appearance of the Homeless Clan.

“By the way, I delivered the needle and note to Sir Yan as you instructed.”

“Yes. You’ve done well.”

“Ya-ho!”

Upon receiving the promised reward, Wiggins’s eyes sparkled and he dashed out of Yan’s house.

He was the second lowest-ranking Single Knot Beggar among the official disciples of the Homeless Clan, an excellent errand boy who could be hired cheaply and followed instructions faithfully.

“So you sent that kid ahead before we set off for Chelsea.”

“That’s right. The Homeless Clan kids can go anywhere in London and are capable of seeing and hearing anything. They’re better than a dozen incompetent Scotland Yard officers.”

Even though he was young and his martial arts skills were lacking, there was a reason for using Wiggins and other street kids as informants.

Wiggins was the illegitimate child of Oliver Twist, the Dragon Head, and was favored here and there, often obtaining valuable information.

Moreover, as seen just a moment ago, he had a natural talent for hiding and concealing his presence.

Just now, even Watson, whose senses were sharper than those of most disciples from the martial sects after being in the battlefield, failed to notice his presence.

“But, it seemed like there was a mention of a needle just now.”

“Ah, yes. Yesterday, you mentioned the silver needle you used to detect poison on Drebber’s corpse.”

“…I definitely stored it separately to collect the poison, but when on earth did it get swiped?”

“When else, but when you were distracted, my friend.”

Watson furrowed her brow for a moment, then seemed to remember something and asked me.

“Wait, neither of us knows what poison is on there, do we? What if it’s a dangerous poison…”

“Don’t worry. When I sent it to Wiggins, I wrapped it tightly in cloth so the poison wouldn’t leak out. And, I came to see Yan because I want to know the identity of the poison.”

“What exactly is the undertaker’s side job…”

“Hm. There are hardly any apothecaries or doctors who don’t know ‘Yan The Taker’. You must not have heard of it since you haven’t been back in London for long.”

“Yan the Taker?”

Watson looked at me with an incredulous gaze, but when Yan brought the tea, she adjusted her posture as if nothing had happened.

“You found something interesting again this time. Holmes.”

“I brought it because I thought it would suit your taste. How is it? Do you like it?”

“That’s something we’ll only know after tasting it.”

Yan poured the tea into a cup, then pulled out a long needle from his bosom and stirred his cup with it.

It was the silver needle employed to extract the poison after piercing Drebber’s heart.

“Wait, that needle has poison—”

Before Watson could stop him, Yan gulped down the contents of the teacup in one go, and in less than three seconds, dark crimson blood began to trickle from his lips.

-Thud!

Yan’s body slid helplessly off the sofa.

His wide-open eyes were gradually losing their light.

Even a layperson could see.

That Yan had drunk the tea into which he dipped the poisoned needle and died instantly.

“What kind of madness is this…!”

Watson tapped the unconscious undertaker’s cheek, then tried to unbutton his shirt and press her ear to his heart.

But.

“What on earth…!”

Watson, witnessing the fist-sized white flesh embedded near Yan’s solar plexus, looked this way with a pale face.

-Thump.

The fist-sized creature, fixed on Yan’s chest and continuously twitching, resembled a plump caterpillar.

“Is this your first time seeing a Worm? I heard it’s sometimes used in surgeries at Bartholomew’s Hospital.”

“That’s a small species used to absorb toxins inside the body! I’ve never heard of or seen a specimen of this absurd size!”

The term Worm referred collectively to bizarre insects with strange ecologies originating from Midfield.

Rumor has it that some clans and monks or martial artists from noble families are devoted to intentionally breeding them, but most doctors seem not to favor it.

“It’s madness to carry around a bug of this size all the time!! Who knows what side effects might―”

“Oh dear, I must have been unconscious for a while.”

“Kyaaaahk!!!”

As Yan smiled and sat up, Watson let out a piercing scream.

“It seems your friend hasn’t heard about my side job. Or did you deliberately not tell them?”

“Of course not. I was just busy and forgot.”

Because of Yan’s unnecessary words, Watson’s gaze at me became noticeably sharper.

I guess I should explain to Watson before she gets more upset.

“The drug Yan consumes fully exerts its effects in any situation but never takes his life. That’s why he’s nicknamed The Taker.”

“That can’t be possible, logically speaking…”

“It’s possible, which is why he’s still alive.”

Watson was looking at Yan with eyes full of distrust, but he appeared much more lively than before.

“Thank you, Holmes. It’s been years since I’ve tasted such a potent poison. The Worm is pleased.”

Yan The Taker, with a bright smile, buttoned up his loosened shirt.

“So, do you know what poison you just tasted?”

“Without a doubt. This flavor is corpse poison.”

“As expected…”

Corpse poison. Literally, poison generated from a corpse.

I was quite pleased with Yan’s answer.

The poison detected in Drebber’s body being corpse poison meant that my hypothesis was correct.

“Have you found out what specific type of corpse poison it is?”

“It’s an object created from the chemicals emitted by the human brain when experiencing intense emotions just before death. It requires specific conditions to be made, but it’s among the most powerful of its kind.”

“I came here wanting to know about those conditions. I’ve brought a specimen suspected to be the source. Would you like to take a look?”

“Alright.”

Yan nodded.

I immediately opened the sack entrusted to Watson and took out the head of Jefferson Hope inside.

“Then, Watson, if you please.”

“……”

Though Watson showed reluctance, she had no choice but to take out the needle and infuse it with energy.

-Puuuk!

A long needle vertically pierced into Hope’s crown.

After a moment, as Watson pulled it out, the end was seen to have turned black like the needle given to Yan earlier.

“There’s no need to taste it. I can tell just from its smell. It’s the same poison, but stronger than what I had consumed earlier.”

“For your information, this head belonged to a man who died three days ago.”

As I said that, Yan’s expression noticeably darkened.

“Cause of death?”

“Even though the body was chopped into pieces, that happened a few days after he died, so it was probably the poison that got him.”

“Killed by the poison his own body produced. I see what’s going on.”

“Hmm.”

Seeing my interest, Yan continued with a reluctant expression.

“Cut open the head. You’ll see something interesting. The ‘condition’ you were curious about should be inside.”

Hearing Yan say that, I drew my sword without hesitation.

“Stand back, Watson.”

I split Hope’s head cleanly in half, table and all.

-Slash!

Of course, being careful not to let the poison inside splatter around.

“…I never said you could cut through my tea table as well.”

A bitter smile from Yan, and Watson, horrified at the sight of the contents of the severed head.

What the cracked skull was protecting wasn’t a brain.

-Wriggle…

A black mass with countless legs, still alive and moving intact.

A Worm, far more horrifying than the one attached to Yan’s chest, was there.

But we didn’t have the leisure to leisurely observe it.

-Kiiik!!

The bisected insect let out a bizarre cry and then shot thread-like mucus from all over its body to reattach its severed halves.

-Crack!

-Crack!!

That wasn’t the end of it.

The creature repeated the same action once more, grabbing the split halves of Hope’s head and restoring them to their original state.

It hadn’t even been two seconds, yet the spot where the sword had cut through healed without a trace.

It was using the corpse as a refuge to prevent its fragile body from being exposed.

“Good heavens…”

Both Watson and I were speechless at the astonishing sight, as if time had been reversed.

It was unimaginable that such a feat, seemingly possible only for legendary grandmasters, could be accomplished by a mere creature.

Meanwhile, the expression on Yan’s face, watching the insect’s actions, was growing darker.

“It’s the creation of the Modern Clan monk, Frankenstein. The ultimate nocturnal poisonous Worm. I thought he had given up, but it seems he finally completed his research.”

“Frankenstein, you mean, that one?”

Yan nodded.

It was a name I had heard before.

He was an archfiend who repeatedly conducted evil research in secret, massacred dozens of his martial brothers at the Modern Clan’s headquarters, and then vanished without a trace.

I heard he last appeared in France, but could he possibly be planning to unleash his horrific creations in London?

“Can you tell me more about this creature?”

“Of course.”

Yan extended his thumb to point at the wriggling bump on his own chest.

“That spiritual creature, no, that monstrosity is a Worm that was stolen from our Yan Clan and altered here and there. Once implanted into the body, anyone would turn into a Dead Man like me, a Living Dead.”

“…?!”

Upon hearing the term “Living Dead”, Watson was utterly shocked.

She realized that the undertaker before her was a being created by breaking every medical taboo known to the field.

“I see now. Hope, suffering from an aortic aneurysm, must have decided he couldn’t finish his revenge and implanted the bug in his body.”

It seemed that Hope had fallen for Frankenstein’s coaxing and offered up his own body.

“That must be it. However, if he was living ambiguously like me, it would be a relief, but unfortunately, that bug doesn’t know how to coexist with others.”

“Explain in detail.”

Yan hesitated for a moment but then, as if making a decision, spoke again.