Chapter 103 City Hunting Ground

   "Huh. Mr. Detective, the trick is useless. I know what you're thinking." The coachman sneered.

   "No, this isn't a trick, I'm just curious." Ignatius said, "Don't you want to tell me?"

   Seeing that the coachman was noncommittal, Igna chuckled lightly.

"Ha, a genius who can see into other people's thoughts, but spent half his life only as a coachman, is it because he enjoys being a coachman?" Igna smiled, "Impossible, this is impossible. Absolutely impossible."

   "Even the coachmen of Backlund can only struggle on the line of food and clothing. They can't make much money. This is not in line with your pursuit, nor in line with your positioning of yourself."

   "Doesn't true genius need applause, admiration, and affirmation of the same level?"

   The coachman looked at Igna, and showed a slightly playful smile: "Mr. Detective, your eloquence is good, but do you think I will care about your thoughts?"

   "In my eyes, you are not much different from these stupid lambs."

   As the coachman spoke, he nudged the girl's forehead with a gun. The girl's body shrank, and tears flowed down her eyes again. She obviously wanted to cry, but she didn't dare, so she could only cover her mouth and swallow the cry back into her stomach.

  The muzzle of the coachman was always pressed against her temple, and the cold barrel was like a scythe of death.

  Igna smiled when he saw this: "Really?"

   "Perhaps." Ignatius said, "After all, I really have no way of empathizing with a dying old man."

  Igna's words managed to make the coachman narrow his eyes.

"Although Backlund's rental carriage has not been properly managed, if a coachman wants to attract a better guest and make a little more money, he still needs to pay attention to his appearance. If he is too sloppy, he will also recruit. No guests." Igna said as if he didn't notice the driver's face.

   "You're wearing clothes that are cleanly laundered, but at least three years old in terms of wear and tear. You think you're a genius, but you settle for the status quo and seem to think life stops there. It doesn't make sense.

   "But since it happened, it means you..." After a pause, Ignatius said slowly, "...Actually, you are about to die."

   The smile on the coachman's face froze for a moment, but soon, he laughed too.

   "Your reasoning is interesting. I'm starting to take a little interest in you, Mr. Detective. You don't seem that stupid."

  Igna smiled and said nothing. The coachman raised his chin and said, "Then do you have any wonderful reasoning you want to share, Mr. Detective?"

  Igna nodded and tapped the table lightly with his index finger.

   "We all know death is scary. But, I don't think that's enough of a reason to play this survival game on an urban hunting ground," Ignatius said.

   "I have something to do with the police, so I know that they have used almost all 'all means' and can't find you." Igna emphasized the syllables on the words "all means".

   "Being able to avoid their search means at least two points. First, you are very careful every time you commit a crime, leaving almost no clues for others to trace you. This is your own ability."

   Unsurprisingly, Ignatius saw a glimmer of pride in the coachman's eyes.

"Second, you have a sponsor." Igna paused, then continued, "In addition to the pistol and bomb, he gave you one thing to carry with you. And it was that thing that allowed you to There was no way to be traced by the police."

   The coachman's smile disappeared, and Igna continued to speak calmly.

"You trust that patron very much. But, we all know that no one trusts a dangerous person without reservation. Let alone a pervert who sponsors a murderer to kill." Igna said slowly, "but he asked you to carry it with you. Things, but you didn't refuse, and you always carry them with you."

   "Explain that he at least gave you reasons and conditions for doing so."

"Judging from the prey you have selected in the hunting grounds these times, it should be money or status. Generally speaking, the victims chosen by murderers are usually related to what they hate. And hatred, to some extent, In fact, it means asking for nothing.”

   Looking at the driver's expression, Igna smiled slightly.

   "Of course you can't use money and status, but there are other people who can." Igna did not stop, and continued, "The people who benefit are your children? Or other people who are connected by blood?"

   "Mr. Genius, do you think I'm right?" Ignat gently tapped again with his index finger on the table.

  The driver was silent for a moment, but then he smiled and said, "Exactly."

   "As long as I kill a person in the city according to his request, my son can get a considerable amount of money. And he has the opportunity to enter the realm of extraordinary people."

   "Mr. Detective, you're very good. I'm starting to wonder about your name." The coachman laughed.

   "Novelist. I'm a novelist. Now a part-time forensic assistant." Ignatius corrected, "But I don't want to tell you my name. A murderer doesn't deserve to know my name."

   "Okay, Mr. Assistant." The coachman smiled nonchalantly, then moved the gun away from the girl's temple, and pointed at Igna, "You can now make a choice."

  Igna smiled with satisfaction.

   He was waiting for this moment.

   "Mist creation."

   After being promoted to astrologer, the ability that originally belonged to the master of jugglers has also been significantly improved. Faster than before, it seems to be just a blink of an eye. Within a five-meter radius of Igna, a milky white mist that made people invisible.

   And the mist also enveloped the coachman and the blond lady.

   "Crimson."

  Igna whispered the activation password of the Sleeping Charm in Old Fusac.

  The silver-white flakes he hid on the table exudes an icy aura~lightnovelpub.net~ The feeling of deep tranquility pervades instantly.

  Igna didn't hesitate and quickly fell asleep.

   Then, he immediately used his special moment to wake up.

   The person in front of him had already fallen into a drowsiness, but Ignat quickly took away the pistol from the coachman's hand.

   And, looking at the sleeping men and women, Igna filled three sleeping spells on them.

   "Get a good night's sleep."

   Ignat broke the coachman's fingers while saying so. But the serial killer who killed five people in a row just groaned, still sleeping in a dream.

-

   Backlund, West Vilas Field.

The two officers of the    special operations team looked at Igna sitting in front of the table and said solemnly, "Although you assisted us in catching the serial killer, you still have to explain clearly what all this is about."

   Reorder 45, I have no more.

  

  

   (end of this chapter)