“Ign’rance Is The Curse Of God.”

“Kung-Fu Gives Thee Wings!”

-William Shakespeare, Henry VI-

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“Holmes…”

“…”

“Holmes?”

-Zzzt-

Only after a sharp pain traveled up the back of my hand did I regain my senses.

Turning my head, I saw Watson pinching my hand.

She had pinched so hard that the spot was red and swollen.

“You were staring off into space so long, I grew concerned.

“Sir Henderson…?”

“He’s already left.”

“…Ah.”

Looking around, I saw the martial artists who’d been following us pass by and gather at the distant tea room entrance.

Now, where had I left off?

Ah yes, Sir Harcourt’s attendant had gone mad the day he began sketching the portrait of the Church of Asteroid’s leader.

His name… yes, I believe it was Clark.

I remember him.

A faint-presence attendant who’d infiltrated the church several times.

During my two visits to the Home Secretary’s office, he’d served tea, delivered payment at the minister’s request, and prepared the Jacksons of Piccadilly canister filled with Fortnum & Mason’s blended herbal elixir tea.

“…”

“Are you alright?”

I gave a small nod to reassure the concerned Watson.

I’m fine.

After all, nothing has happened to me.

The problem is that tragedy has befallen an innocent man.

I was simply… thinking something over.“

“…It sounds like you’ve picked up on something.”

According to Sir Henderson, the Home Secretary’s attendant is now little more than a husk — clutching a brush, muttering to the air.

Sir Henderson said it appears he went insane while attempting to draw the portrait of the Church of Asteroid’s leader.

At this point, I was considerably shocked.

‘This is black arts the likes of which I’ve never seen.’

No, perhaps an evil trick1?

Either way, he’s clearly fallen victim to a Kung-Fu that befuddles the mind to prevent information leaks.

When I once donned a mask and intimidated the Phantom Fist last time, I confirmed Moriarty employs such sinister methods.

It’s likely the Great Soul-Stealing Method, Hypnosis, a Kung-Fu rumored in Murim circles

When I had him by the throat, the Phantom Fist terrified for his life, managed to partially lift his own mental seal and lit slip a small clue.

Yet he didn’t lose his mind immediately after revealing small clues about Moriarty.

When I last met Lestrade, he told me that the Phantom Fist, Timothy Young was still undergoing intense secret interrogation.

That the questioning continues means his mental state remains relatively intact.

Therefore, the technique that struck down Sir Harcourt’s attendant Clarke was different from the seal placed on the Phantom Fist.

Whether one is a martial artist or a commoner without the faintest trace of internal energy, a mental seal produces the same effect.

Clark infiltrated the church multiple times and must have seen Moriarty’s face.

Yet he returned unharmed after encountering Moriarty and continued to serve the Home Secretary. Does this mean the church failed to discern his true identity?

‘No. They must have realized.’

Moriarty is a man of meticulous thoroughness.

He would have accounted for every member of his congregation.

Given the cruel machinations I saw before my regression, it’s far more likely he knew exactly who had sent Clarke and let him be.

‘Did he pride himself on being able to silence him at any moment?.’

It isn’t difficult to make dynamite using a mechanical device.

But to secretly seize control over a person and render them a simpleton the moment they attempt to reveal certain information, that requires far more elaborate preparation.

The Great Soul-Stealing Method’s hypnosis alone wouldn’t suffice.

Poison wouldn’t work either.

Then perhaps a special gu poison?

If I had Yan’s assistance, I might deduce Moriarty’s method without dissecting Clark.

However, if Moriarty didn’t plant an insect in the minister’s attendant, then one far more terrible possibility remains—

“Watson. Your notebook?”

“I did bring it, but why so suddenly…?”

“Let me borrow it for a moment.”

-Rip-

I tore a page from Watson’s notebook and quickly scrawled a few lines on each side.

“Excuse me. Might I have a moment?”

Ensuring the twice-folded note wouldn’t open easily, I approached the Forbidden Palace’s butler nearby.

“This is an emergency. Please deliver this note to Sir Henderson.”

“At the Little Heavenly Demon’s request, certainly.”

Showing my seven-step invitation and slipping him a Florin2, the man nodded readily.

“If you had business with the Chief Commissioner, you should’ve finished it earlier.”

Watson asked as we watched the butler depart swiftly.

“My business is with Sir Harcourt. I hope Sir Henderson delivers the note to the minister.”

On the note’s reverse side, I’d written:

I’d added coded symbols in the corner—a prohibition order using the Sole Director’s authority to prevent the butlers of the British Intelligence from reading it.

If necessary, I would draw Mycroft into this matter someday.

For now, it would suffice to leave a warning for Sir Harcourt, who had just been thwarted by the Church Of Asteroid’s destruction of evidence.

“…About what Sir Henderson just said — didn’t you mention someone tried to assassinate the Phantom Fist before? Could it be the same hand—”

“It’s likely so.”

I gave an intentionally vague answer.

“Rest assured. I’ll make sure he pays. When the time comes.”

“I trust you won’t let those who drag innocents into this go unpunished.”

“Obviously. But for now, let’s focus on what’s before us. As unfortunate as Clark’s case is, there’s nothing we can do for him right now.”

“…You’re right. We must”

Watson nodded, still looking unconvinced, then matched my stride toward the tea room.

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In Buckingham Palace’s Old West Wing, there was no official “tearoom” prepared for the Luck Afternoon Tea.

Only one location served this purpose.

That place was the Music Room.

Connected to a terrace overlooking the Forbidden Palace’s gardens, this opulent space, adorned with blue columns, gold accents, red velvet sofas, and countless mirrors, was known as where guests waited before tea parties or banquets.

Its vastness, able to hold four figures’ worth of guests, was matched only by the number of stories embedded in its history..

Foremost among them was the tale of Queen Victoria and her consort, Prince Albert.

The Queen, skilled in piano and song, would perform here with her consort, Prince Albert.

Though today it had been moved elsewhere for the court ball, the Erard piano, normally set in the sunniest spot before the balcony, still held their memories.

It was also well known among Britons that Anglican clergy had brought water from the Jordan to baptize the Queen’s children and grandchildren here.

“Amazing… So this is the famous…”

Thus Watson’s awed reaction upon entering was predictable, given her royal reverence.

As for me, finding nothing remarkable beyond the decor, I couldn’t share her enthusiasm.

“I’ve often heard of the Music Room being used as a waiting hall, but seeing hundreds crammed inside is quite the spectacle.”

As always, space was never the true issue.

It’s who’s inside that matters.

“…Hmm.”

While surveying the room, I noticed something peculiar. The large tea table at the center had yet to be surrounded by chairs.

It was already set with finger sandwiches, teacups, and everything but the steaming teapots.

The low height meant that, as my master had once told me, Afternoon Tea at the court ball was enjoyed seated.

Initially, I’d assumed it’d be standing-style given the crowd.

So what is the reason there are no chairs yet?

The veteran attendees exchanging knowing glances suggested there was more to it.

“This way for a moment.”

“What is it, Holmes?”

We wove through the crowd toward the balcony, where the view did not disappoint.

Below stretched five acres of chamomile lawn.

To either side of the palace’s grand gardens stood massive tents.

Servants bustled about carrying tea and food.

To my eyes, there was only one explanation: they were preparing for a garden party..

“That’s…”

“Seems afternoon tea won’t be indoors only.”

And then—

“Attention, all!”

A senior royal attendant emerged, ringing a small bell.

“As the Music Room is over capacity, those attending the court ball without a Ten-Step Invitation or higher will please move to the garden to enjoy Afternoon Tea.”

-Ring!

At his signal, the box behind him sprang open, launching a rectangular steel plate into the air.

“Hahp!”

With a wave, the plates formed floating steps to the garden using void-manipulation tricks.

Given the plates’ weight and thickness, the attendant’s Kung-Fu mastery was evident.

“So only those with the Ten-Step invitation and above may stay… Does that mean I have to go down to the garden?”

Seeing Watson’s anxious look, I reassured her.

“No need. Knowing what’s about to happen in the garden, Her Majesty won’t allow someone like you to go down there.”

“What do you mean? What could possibly—”

Before Watson finished, the attendant announced:

“However, those with arm/leg injuries may remain regardless of their invitation status. Please give thanks for Her Majesty Queen Victoria’s boundless grace.”

“We are eternally grateful, Your Majesty.”

Those with prostheses or missing limbs bowed gratefully.

Watson also bowed cautiously.

“Seems there will be more competitors this year.”

“This won’t be easy, eh?”

Meanwhile, a long queue was forming by the balcony.

Those with lower-tier invitations stepped onto the floating plates descending to the garden.

My invitation was a Seven-Step Invitation.

I could stay with Watson for tea without joining that queue.

But.

“Thank goodness I’m with you. The thought of limping around that garden alone is dizzying.”

“Apologies, Watson. I think I’ll have to go down.”

“What?”

As Watson gaped, the head attendant continued:

“Those with Ten-Step invitations or higher may join the garden party if desired.”

“What…”

“However, unlike the Music Room’s pre-served elixir tea, garden attendees must employ Kung-Fu prowess to partake. Proceed with caution.”

“Kung-Fu conflict? What does that—”

As Watson tilted her head in confusion, I clarified:

“I meant to explain earlier. What’s about to unfold in the garden is an elixir tea battle royale.”

Regarding other name for the Buckingham Royal Ball’s Afternoon Tea: The Hunger Game.

1. TL/N: Demonic Arts ️

2. TL/N: The British florin, or two-shilling piece (2/– or 2s.), was a coin worth 1⁄10 of one pound, or 24 pence. It was issued from 1849 until 1967. ️