Chapter 1778: Summer in Fool

Schiller's car stopped on a brightly lit street, but it didn't pull into the designated parking space of any building. Instead, it circled around to a back alley, stopped in the darkness, and the two people who got out of the car stepped into the darkness as well.

Schiller and Pamela stood at the corner of the street. It wasn't exactly hidden, but usually, there wouldn't be unrelated people wandering around on a street gathered with such high-end clubs. Dead angles invisible from windows were everywhere, and Schiller and Pamela were in the range of one of them.

"Aren't we going in?" Pamela asked.

Schiller shook his head and said, "Judging from your remarks during the day, perhaps you aren't addicted to the point of forming a hunting club."

"This is ridiculous." Pamela raised her voice, "I haven't actually murdered anyone, at least not yet."

"A law-abiding good girl."

Pamela didn't know how to respond. She stepped forward slightly, poked her head out from behind Schiller, and then she felt a hand press on her shoulder, pushing her back slightly.

"The first rule of hunting is patience." Schiller's voice seemed to resonate in Pamela's chest.

Pamela followed Schiller's gaze to a building opposite. It was a mansion by the Gotham River, just like all the buildings on this street—magnificent, brightly lit, with faint music drifting out. The ball was at its climax.

Are we going to break in? Pamela wanted to ask, but she thought of the rule Schiller had just mentioned and ultimately remained silent. Schiller turned back and gave her an approving look.

"Do you know Oswald Cobblepot?" Schiller stood up straight, stopped looking toward that place, turned back to look at Pamela, and asked.

"I've heard of him. A sophomore student with a special talent for running businesses. I've been to the Iceberg Lounge with classmates for a meal. Honestly, it was quite novel."

Pamela didn't know why she always gave long-winded answers when Schiller asked questions. This wasn't like her at all. This was the attitude of a normal person with normal emotions and mental excitement.

Then she realized she might be unconsciously wrapped in an environment where she could feel danger at any moment. The source of the danger was the man beside her, so her spirit was constantly stimulated, and her level of excitement was rising straight up.

"Yes, those evaluations are all correct. I've heard a little bit, too. Then you should also know his status among the gangs?"

"The Godfather's favorite."

"Exactly, Miss. A few days ago, he consulted me about a bizarre serial murder case. You should have heard of similar symptoms: toxic edema."

Pamela nodded and said, "Of course, Professor Victor told me about this. Have you found the murderer yet?"

"Not yet, but only a detective would go to investigate the murderer."

Pamela raised her eyebrows: "Aren't you a detective?"

"A detective will find the murderer; a murderer chooses to frame another murderer."

"You did it?" Pamela said in surprise, but she wasn't actually surprised at all.

Schiller shook his head and said, "No, but a murderer who hasn't acted yet will choose to create a murderer."

"Bang!"

A loud noise startled Pamela. She complained in her heart that the disadvantage of mental excitement was just that: the sensitivity of perception would rise exponentially, making it easy to be startled.

Pamela poked her head out and saw the gate of the mansion Schiller was focusing on being kicked open at the end of the street. Gang members filed in, all armed with guns and ammunition.

A security vehicle finally stopped in front of the gate. Cobblepot, whose figure wasn't exactly strong, was very conspicuous among the group of tough gang members. He stepped on the carpet at the mansion entrance and walked in, his back disappearing into the dazzling light of the ballroom.

Schiller acted swiftly. He walked quickly along the shadows of the street toward the building. Pamela hurried to follow behind him, only to find that she couldn't keep up with his speed at all.

And Schiller's speaking speed was as fast as Pamela's. He said, "I told Cobblepot an obvious fact: I am unable to investigate the truth of this case."

"How could he believe that?"

"Usually he wouldn't, but my point is that this situation isn't usual. The famous chemist Jonathan Crane gave me a conclusion: the toxin in the deceased's body is not a technological product, to the point that even he cannot conduct a specific analysis."

Pamela had a flash of inspiration and said, "... Magic?"

"Cobblepot would naturally think so, because if I told him that the truth couldn't be determined through detective means, it would mean the murderer comes and goes without a trace, leaving no clues behind. Investigation would naturally be out of the question."

"But there is no other evidence to suggest it was done by a mage."

"He doesn't need other evidence." Schiller turned the corner at the back of the building quickly and walked toward the side door that had already been opened. He said, "Gangs aren't detectives. They usually catch the murderer first and then ask for clues."

"Barbaric but useful."

"And very easy to be exploited."

Schiller stepped into the dark corridor without hesitation. Pamela snapped her fingers, and a green flame ignited in her hand, but Schiller shook his head and said, "If you have night vision, you can use it, but don't create light."

"You don't want to be discovered by the gang either?"

"Shockingly sharp." Schiller stood at the fork in the kitchen's delivery passage and stroked the wall with his hand, saying, "Then use your sharpness to guess where the deer we are going to visit would hide in the forest?"

Pamela raised her face in the darkness, her eyes flickering with a faint light, but she didn't use her special abilities. She just concentrated on listening to the subtle sound of blood pumping from her heart, which was beating faster than ever. Without a doubt, there was a deer whose heart rate was just as flustered.

"Warehouse. In the cold storage warehouse."

Schiller walked in that direction without hesitation. Pamela couldn't help but say, "I've dealt with those mages. They aren't completely ignorant of the ordinary world. At least they know the cold storage door has the highest strength, and they aren't afraid of the cold like ordinary people. If they can block the gang for a while, they have ways to escape using magical means."

"Brilliant deduction."

"Are we going to catch the smartest deer?" Pamela licked her lips again. She rubbed the sweat on her palms with her thumb, feeling her heart rate gradually stabilize.

"Can you feel it?" Schiller's smile was still obvious in the darkness: "This will be the thing that truly makes you feel calm."

"You shouldn't incite me." Pamela's voice turned a bit hoarse: "That would be more dangerous than you imagine."

"I'm just providing you with a way to recover after social failure, but don't really do it. Otherwise, you'll relax to the point of completely forgetting how to socialize, you'll hide back in the forest, and eventually, you'll become that deer."

Pamela understood what Schiller meant. Wasn't this the tragedy of the mages in the magical world?

They separated themselves from the vast majority of ordinary people, thinking they were different and talented. They disdained socializing with ordinary people, had almost no social relationships, hid alone in the forest called the magical world, and devolved themselves into animals with only strong muscles.

So when gangs killed them, they had no scruples, because there were no notable relationships behind these mages. What about Master of the Night Jim? Would he slaughter all of humanity to avenge these mages? Who would dare to do that?

"Society is the society of ordinary people. Either integrate, or stay away." Schiller's low voice echoed in the corridor: "If you want to enjoy the prosperity of civilized society, communicate by the rules of civilized society. This is the price that must be paid."

"So you chose psychology?"

"In a situation where I could have killed them, yes."

Schiller and Pamela stopped in front of the cold storage door. Schiller lowered his head and glanced at the footprints with water stains at the door. Pamela's deduction was precise and accurate. The other party had clearly just entered not long ago, and the operation keypad of the internal cold storage door had clearly brought him a bit of trouble. The door had just closed a few seconds ago.

"Take me in."

The next second, a green light flashed, the emerald vines disappeared, and the moment the light vanished, Schiller saw a tall, thin figure, but that wasn't the person he should have seen here.

"Stephen Strange."

The instant Strange turned his head and saw those desolate gray eyes, he swallowed the name that was about to blurt out, his expression becoming increasingly icy.

When he turned around, Pamela realized that Strange was holding someone in his arms, or rather, that was the deer they were looking for. Three seconds ago, the surging heart had just finished its mission.

Strange let go of his hand, a thin chain dangled from his fingertips, and the corpse slid to the ground, making a "thud" sound. The cloak slid off the forehead. Pamela looked at the familiar face and shouted, "Master Andrew!"

"An idiot." Strange lowered his eyes, looked at the corpse at his feet, and said, "He thought I couldn't use magic in this world, so the threat had no force. He made a deal with a stupid goat and left a backdoor for him on the Earth's magical defense network."

"Would you believe me if I said he wasn't like this before?"

"Of course. During that war that happened here, he stood up. But I'm afraid it's hard for the merits to offset the faults. Are you going to defend him?"

"I need his corpse."

Strange furrowed his brows. The next second, the world spun. An unimaginable giant force pressed against his chest and threw him to the ground. With a "thud," a pained groan spilled from Strange's mouth.

When Schiller grabbed his neck and threw him out, it was like throwing a light doll, and as he flew out, he clearly felt himself smash through a series of steel food racks.

Pamela finally knew what Schiller meant by "having some experience in fighting humanoid creatures."

Schiller stood straight in front of Master Andrew again. He glanced outside the cold storage door. The chaos caused by the gang was getting closer and closer. They didn't have much time.

Strange, lying on the ground with his head drooping, gasped in pain, struggling on the ground twice. And when he finally turned over and lay on his side, he reached out a trembling hand. Instantly, a whip made of dark energy flew out from his hand, dragging a series of sparks across the smooth metal floor.

"Snap!"

An emerald shield blocked this attack, but not in front of Schiller—it was in front of Master Andrew's corpse.

Schiller turned to look at Strange. Blood was pouring from his mouth. Schiller walked toward him and reached out to press on his shoulder to open his respiratory tract.

Strange lay flat on the ground, the ceiling in his field of vision becoming blurry. He felt that he might have been hoisted up by Schiller, and then he lost consciousness.

When he woke up again, the ceiling before his eyes was unfamiliar. Schiller was standing in front of his bed, his face unclear against the light.

"I don't think you have any reason to go against me, sir." Schiller's tone was as light as a chant.

Strange endured the pain in his chest and couldn't help but chuckle, saying, "I don't like you. Is that not allowed?"

"Can you give me a reason?" Schiller sat on the edge of the bed, his arms resting on his legs, turned his head to look at Strange, and asked. There wasn't a hint of anger in his tone, only shallow curiosity.

Strange closed his eyes gently and said in a dry voice, "You aren't human. You're just a monster wearing human skin. You should get out of this body and return it to Schiller."

"Very justified, Mr. Strange."

Strange opened his eyes and looked at Schiller, who had stood up again, in disbelief.

Did he just hear joy in the tone of this monster? Why wasn't he angry?

"Miss Pamela will come up soon to treat your wounds, but as an apology, I must invite you to stay for the banquet tomorrow night. You will like it."

"I have no interest in a beastly carnival of drinking blood and eating raw meat." Strange closed his eyes.

"That works out perfectly, as the theme of this party is 'people'." Shiler looked down at Strange and said, "I sincerely hope you will honor us with your presence, Sorcerer Supreme."