When the plot-skips players into the game world

Shepherd Bay County, Eagle Cape Village. Seven o'clock in the evening.

The sunset outside the window had already fallen, and the cold storm that accompanied The Wild Hunt's arrival swept through the area.

In Hayna's home, the whole family gathered in the blacksmith shop ablaze with flames. The fire, ignited by the Fire Spirit, dispelled the chill, and the people huddled together, surrounding the diminutive young Sherlock.

"—Give it a try, Arthur. It has a bit of your own hard work in it too,"

The Master Magnetic Hammer encouraged as he handed the staff to Sherlock.

Sherlock paused before it dawned on him. He had almost forgotten that he was using the alias Arthur Conan Doyle in Eagle Cape Village.

He looked down at it—it was a staff that looked anything but impressive, black as a tree burned to charcoal, with a hint of sparks amid the darkness.

The young Sherlock slowly took the staff with both hands and planted it on the ground.

The staff was even taller than he was. He had to lift his hands high just to grasp the handle of the staff.

But as Sherlock pulled down with effort, the staff retracted with a spiral motion, sinking into the bottom.

—Even a child's stature could handle it properly.

Then Sherlock aimed it at the air and flicked it with force—

Only to see the staff unfold like the spine of a wild beast, turning into a whip with blades. The sharp and cold thin blades brought to mind a coiled snake.

He rotated the handle slightly, and it snapped back into a staff with a 'pop'.

Sherlock swung the staff menacingly at the air.

The staff made a sharp swooshing sound as it traced pitch-black snake shadows through the air.

Then the young Sherlock gripped the staff again, pushing it forward slightly. A fireball roared into existence before him.

Before the fireball shot out, he pulled the leaning staff back. The flames slowly shrank and extinguished.

Steam hissed out from the bottom of the staff, as if a machine was venting it.

"Bullets just couldn't be incorporated—too much damage to the structure and possibly not much harm anyway,"

The Master Magnetic Hammer encouraged, "But that substitute you proposed—it's been fitted in there—why not give it a try?"

"I'll try..."

The young Sherlock solemnly raised the staff, manipulating the hidden switch.

The coiled staff suddenly extended completely, its end transforming into a sharp spike.

Its length was about two meters and thirty centimeters.

If close enough, it might directly penetrate an opponent's torso.

It could be used as a concealed weapon for self-defense when out of mana points.

At this range, the power of this weapon wouldn't be much worse than a shotgun.

"Perfect,"

The young Sherlock respectfully retracted the staff to its initial state, nodding, "In a few days, I will bring the agreed-upon reward."

"Hey, I don't really care about that."

The tipsy Master Magnetic Hammer took a swig of beer and laughed loudly, "How about joining me for a drink?"

"No thanks, Master. We probably need to leave right away—"

Sherlock put on his newsboy cap and said gravely, "Hayna will likely return early tomorrow, but I reckon it will take a little longer."

Looking at Hayna, who had already dressed, the Master Magnetic Hammer asked in return, "Oh, do you have a mission?

"What kind of mission involves two kids during their holiday?"

He still didn't know Sherlock's real identity.

"It's not a mission," Sherlock sighed and explained, "Isabel... the queen, has already been crowned."

"The queen, ascended to the throne..."

The Master Magnetic Hammer muttered.

He suddenly lifted his head, startled, grasping what young Sherlock meant.

"Queen Sofia... she passed away?"

"Yes, died of old age,"

Sherlock sighed with a somewhat complex expression, "The funeral is in two days."

"...Hasn't it been almost a week since then?"

The frustrated Master Magnetic Hammer exclaimed, "Ah... such is the news in Eagle Cape Village. Forget it, The Wild Hunt has passed... you better hurry along!"

Saying this, he waved his hand to hurry the two out.

The news received in Eagle Cape Village was generally disordered—sometimes there would be none for days, other times a few days' worth would arrive all at once. It was also possible that the news meant for the following day would arrive ahead of time.

Sherlock had even sent back a letter saying "I won't be coming home for the New Year this year" before receiving the important news of Isabel's coronation and Aiwass's role as the Monarch's aide.

He suddenly felt a mix of emotions—

If he hadn't shrunk, if he hadn't stayed in Eagle Cape Village, maybe there would still be a place for him here.

But... it's fine.

When they left the warmth of the house, they felt the chilly wind of late December outside.

Hayna mounted Gryphon Liz and stuffed little Sherlock behind her, asking with some concern, "Should we go faster?"

"It's okay, actually. At least when I received this letter, there was almost two days left before the Queen's funeral... There's still a bit of time to prepare."

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief, his expression a bit complicated, "Queen Sofia has been kind to my whole family. I must attend her funeral no matter what."

"What about your current size?"

Hayna was somewhat worried, "Just go like this?"

Sherlock shook his head, "Let's just go like this."

"Let Sherlock Hermes be absent? That wouldn't be right."

Hayna came up with a bad idea, "Why don't you try to level up tomorrow night? I remember you said you'd revert back to normal after one more level up, right?"

"As if it's that easy!"

Sherlock complained with annoyance, "It hasn't even been a month since my last level up!"

His Path of Wisdom was about to advance to the fourth energy level.

But advancing from the third to the fourth energy level wasn't so easy to achieve.

Perhaps only Aiwass could manage it—Sherlock didn't know why, but this thought suddenly popped into his head.

...Not to mention, he had practically done nothing for the past half a month. Eagle Cape Village was just too remote. He had devoted all his energies to investigating the village's unique geography. In this time, he hadn't read any books or solved any cases. Relying solely on this research, which apparently led to nothing, his training on the Path of Wisdom had not progressed an inch.

Let alone leveling up tomorrow—he estimated he might not be able to level up for the next few months.

That meant he had to maintain this embarrassing, foolish, clumsy childform for several months!

Although there were occasional conveniences...

Most of the time, however, he only felt that a child's body was so inconvenient, and Sherlock missed his original body even more.

—How could Sherlock Hermes possibly be absent from Queen Sofia's funeral!

...But there really was no other way.

"Even if 'Sherlock' can't make it, I have to go in person. It's not for show, but something I truly feel," said little Sherlock.

"Hey, there's someone down there!"

Suddenly, Hayna exclaimed, "Do you see him?"

Sherlock squinted, making a bit of an effort, before realizing that he just couldn't see that far.

He reached out his hand and cast a spell on himself—a flowing frame of glass spun around him, sharpening his vision.

He soon saw that there indeed was a person there.

He lay on the ground, seemingly unconscious. He looked like he was about to die.

Clearly, he had been caught in the path of The Wild Hunt, which had drained the warmth from his body. Ice had truly formed all over him.

...An outsider?

If Sherlock didn't do something, the man might die right away.

And by the next morning, when everything refreshed, the man's body would likely vanish without a trace.
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Sherlock hesitated for a moment, but then gritted his teeth and patted Hayna's shoulder with force.

"Let's go down and take a look!"

"I was just waiting for you to say that!"

Hayna answered cheerfully, "Let's go down and save him, Liz!"

Though she was nominally Sherlock's junior... Once Hayna had advanced to the fourth energy level, her confidence and assurance had genuinely grown quite a bit.

"...Eh?"

Even before Gryphon Liz had finished descending, Sherlock uttered a sound of surprise.

Because he recognized the identity of the person.

"Mr. Watson?"

"An acquaintance of yours, Sherlock?"

"Sort of. A mediocre detective, a fairly competent surgeon," quickly explained Sherlock, "and a writer who likes to write detective novels—he runs a detective agency, but usually just handles tasks like finding lost pets or gathering evidence of affairs. He has sent some cases my way, so we've had some dealings.

"Hurry down, Hayna—and remember to call me Arthur Conan Doyle!"