Chapter 257: The Friendship Between England and France Lasts Forever

PS: Chapter 2 will be a bit later.

Screech—

The piercing screech of brakes pulled Ma Ma Zhaodi's attention back from the system panel to the street; he glanced at his phone and realized it was already past ten in the morning—the taxi had been on the road for nearly half an hour.

"Has London always been this congested?" Ma Ma Zhaodi sighed. "We've spent nearly half our time stuck in traffic."

"More than half," Constantine chuckled, correcting him. "And it's not always this bad—we got lucky this morning with less traffic; usually, it's even worse."

"Six."

"London is like that, kid. Welcome to London."

The two got out of the car and arrived before a magnificent, massive white building; over a dozen Greek-style massive stone columns supported a beautiful triangular pediment, and just from the exterior, one could imagine the interior space likely reaching tens of thousands of square meters.

"Made so grand," Ma Ma Zhaodi asked. "What place is this?"

Constantine sneered again. "The British Museum, friend. The Empire's Treasury. The place where we store all our spoils."

Ma Ma Zhaodi smiled too. "You mean the place where early Britain, after forcibly seizing treasures from various nations, used to flaunt its banditry?"

"Precisely."

Constantine walked toward the interior. "This is our England, friend. Egyptian mummies and steles, sculptures from the Parthenon in Athens, Roman vases, Taoist statues, Yuan dynasty blue-and-white porcelain, ten volumes of the Yongle Encyclopedia. Seen 'Raiders of the Lost Ark'? This is the so-called proud achievements of explorers in various nations—but then again, the French aren't far behind in this regard; when it comes to being bandits, we're all equally professional."

Ma Ma Zhaodi smiled again. "The friendship between England and France truly lasts forever."

The two walked toward the museum's interior; according to Constantine, his friend was here. Ma Ma Zhaodi held back his temper all the way, cursing the current England in his heart.

In the office, the two met the elderly scholar in his fifties, who held Constantine's drawing and examined it for a long time, making appreciative noises.

"Professor?" Constantine prompted. "Did you find anything?"

"This painting is very unusual and quite interesting—I have indeed seen something similar." As he spoke, he adjusted his glasses. "When I was in South Sudan, I once saw similar tattoos. And as far as I know, only one tribe there still performs such magical Sacrificial Offering."

At this moment, Ma Ma Zhaodi noticed the professor's choice of words. "Sacrificial Offering?"

"Yes, Sacrificial Offering," the professor nodded. "That tribe is a branch of the Dinka people, and this tattoo is used to constrain or bind; this method can only be applied to human flesh and blood. Precisely because of this, it treats a person as a tool for casting spells, so that person naturally becomes a Sacrificial Offering—the shaman casting the spell must be a master proficient in natural magic."

Natural magic? Ma Ma Zhaodi silently shook his head; although the name sounded very green, the power of the Green of All Things and the Red of All Beings had no special reaction to this pattern.

After leaving the museum, Constantine turned to look at Ma Ma Zhaodi. "Did you hear what the professor said?"

"I heard it. What do you want to say?"

"We have to go to Africa. You need to start getting your visa sooner."

"You have to know, in my entire life I've only been to two countries: one is China, where I stayed for over twenty years; the other is Gotham, where I stayed for about two years. Yet I've barely been in England for a few days, and now I have to go to Africa again."

"Wait..." Constantine, listening, suddenly reached out and stopped Ma Ma Zhaodi's words. "You said where you were originally from?"

"China."

"No, no, the one after that."

"Gotham."

"My god," Constantine exclaimed. "Two years. You survived two years in that ghost place, and after coming out, you still care about 'morality'?"

"Do you have an objection?"

"I have no objection."

Seeing Ma Ma Zhaodi withdraw his disapproving gaze, Constantine continued speaking.

"In any case, you insisted on investigating this matter yourself, and now we must go abroad to continue." Constantine lit a cigarette. "Or you can stay here and watch the kids in place of Chase, while I go to Africa with him?"

"Forget it, I'll go with you," Ma Ma Zhaodi shook his head. "Investigating matters feels safer when participating personally."

"Alright, remember to wear a sun hat."

As Constantine spoke, he took out his phone and made a call.

"Hello? Midnight? It's me, Constantine. I need something from you."

Midnight?

Ma Ma Zhaodi vaguely recalled this title; it should be a code name for a middle-aged black warlock, and this person was very strong, collecting many magical artifacts.

His nickname was Midnight Papa—Midnight is the overlapping point of the twenty-fourth hour of one day and the zero hour of the next, an impartial moment in time, just like Midnight's style: completely neutral, not actively participating in conflicts, not favoring any faction; as for Papa, that's his self-designation, considering himself a father-figure among criminals.

"No, no, I'm not joking; I'm asking seriously—have any strange things happened recently?"

"The restaurant incident? Alright, it seems London's situation has been replicated in New York. Fine, alright, say hello to your skulls for me."

After hanging up, Constantine took a drag of his cigarette.

"I don't know if all Haitian wizards are like this, lacking a sense of humor—but at least Nemos hasn't picked a second prey yet, so we still have time to conduct an investigation."

The visa matter wasn't troublesome; Constantine, constantly traveling the globe, didn't lack such things, and Ma Ma Zhaodi had global identity, so he had no problems either—this fact surprised Constantine quite a bit.

"So, you originally planned to travel the globe?" He smiled while holding his cigarette. "And the first stop ended in disaster?"

"Doesn't matter. After finishing this investigation, I'll head back to Gotham first."

While chatting and laughing, the two got into a taxi.

"In any case, buddy—we'll go to Africa first to see what's going on."

The taxi driver paused, then turned back to ask, "Where?"

"Africa."

"Buddy, this might be a bit beyond my mileage."

The next day, the flight departing from London Airport arrived in Sudan, Africa.

The scorching sun baked the earth, and also baked Constantine and Ma Ma Zhaodi walking upon it.

The desolate Gobi was covered in sand and gravel; jagged strange rocks swept across the horizon, and only occasionally could a touch of green be seen in the shadows of rock crevices.

"Great," Constantine wiped sweat from his face with a soaked Mao Jin. "Yesterday I was freezing in London's shit rain, and today I'm running to Africa to become barbecue. Life is truly f***ing wonderful."

"Is it very hot?" Ma Ma Zhaodi, on the side, took a bite of watermelon. "Why don't I feel it?"

(End of this chapter)