Chapter 2996: The Green Trees Cast Deep Shadows, the Summer Days Are Long (41)

Schiller first sized them both up.

The woman wore a very typical witch's attire, with a head of long, red, wavy hair draped behind her, and her eyes flashed with red light. The man was extremely short, appearing to suffer from dwarfism, and his features were hideous, looking almost like a monster in the dim light.

Schiller realized he was being held suspended in mid-air by magical force; clearly, it was the witch-like woman who had acted. He was not at all surprised to be discovered, and even had the composure to greet them.

"Hello," Schiller said.

"Who are you?!" The witch frowned deeply.

"Wait, wait..." The short man seemed to notice something. He circled Schiller once, returned to his original spot, and stared at Schiller's face. "You are Schiller, Schiller Rodriguez?"

The witch immediately turned to look at him. "You know him?"

"Don't be so surprised. He is a celebrity, the world's most famous psychologist... Ha, a completely untalented ordinary person."

"Then, seeing me here, you must think I am too ordinary," Schiller also smiled and said.

The short man was suddenly like a lit bomb; he shrieked.

"Ordinary people are always so short-sighted! They only see superficial things, like good looks or noble temperament, but in reality, they cannot tell who has talent! They ignore the golden soul beneath every ugly exterior, just like the Hunchback of Notre-Dame!"

"The Hunchback of Notre-Dame was taller than you," Schiller said.

The short man was choked off. His face turned purple within seconds, as if someone were strangling his neck, and he let out a sound like a duck.

"Annoying man." The witch suddenly became irritable. She said, "Sharing a room with you, this monster, is already disgusting enough; now another one has come! I will kill you all!"

"Before that, Madam, I have a question: what do you want with the souls of so many children?"

The witch fixed her gaze on Schiller's face, then turned to look at the short man, using magical force to choke his neck. "You swore you didn't tell anyone about our plan! Then how did this damn bastard know?!"

"I don't know, maybe the police told him..."

"I guessed it myself," Schiller said. "You look down on ordinary people, but you have never truly understood them. Those three idiots clearly lacked the ability to kill over a hundred children in a few years without leaving any traces. Someone must have helped them clean up the mess, and they didn't use conventional means, but magic."

"Magicians never do business at a loss. If they helped others, they must have demanded more in return. I believe the only thing of value in this matter is the souls of the children."

"I am no magician; I am a witch," the witch held her head high and said.

"I thought a witch was just a branch of magic..."

"It's not the same. Forget it, why am I talking to you about this?"

"Wait! Wait! Circe!" the short man suspended in mid-air shouted. "Let me read his mind! I will know how he found out about our plan! Put me down first!"

"I warned you not to call me by my name!" the witch shrieked, and terrifying witchcraft power filled the entire room.

Schiller seemed to find the noise bothersome; he frowned and sighed. This attitude completely enraged the witch named Circe. She angrily pointed a finger at Schiller.

Instantly, a beam of red light shone upon Schiller.

*Swish! * Schiller's figure disappeared.

The short man suspended in mid-air suddenly shrieked, "No! You're too impulsive! You can't just turn him into an animal; you should have let me read his mind first!!!"

"Shut up, you damn idiot, Edgar! Do you think you have the qualifications to speak to me like that?! I only tolerate sharing a room with you because you aren't even a man! You are just a broken monster!"

The witch turned coldly, but just as she was about to take a step forward, her footsteps suddenly halted.

"Did you hear something?" she whispered.

The short man called Edgar shook his head, but suddenly, he seemed to hear the sound of wind—the kind of wind most easily heard on an endless wilderness.

"What the hell?" Circe turned and looked toward the door.

This was a sealed tunnel; both ends were not connected, and oxygen was maintained by magic. It was impossible for there to be wind.

Suddenly, in the tunnel reflected in the witch's pupils, something seemed to be approaching rapidly.

The witch immediately raised her hand, wanting to stop it with witchcraft, but the next second, the fireplace in the room went out, and darkness swallowed everything.

Only the red light of Circe's witchcraft in her eyes, like two lonely burning ghost fires, swayed constantly in the dark night. She roared at the air in front of her.

"Get out! Don't play tricks here! Otherwise, I'll make you regret it!"

Suddenly, the witch felt a huge shadow covering her. She felt an endless chill slowly covering her spine. In an instant, she felt as if she were in a snowfield.

The sound of flutes and drums, the sound of long flutes, and hoarse singing echoed in her ears. A cold hand rested on her shoulder, but when she turned her head, there was nothing there.

The fire in the fireplace rose again. Everything that had just happened seemed like an illusion. Circe turned to look at Edgar, but Edgar seemed unaware, even asking her very confusedly, "What's wrong with you? Why did you suddenly stop?"

"Alright, Madam, I know this isn't your fault, so don't be too angry. Put me down quickly; we still have to discuss the next countermeasures..."

"What?" Circe looked at him. "Don't you know why you were hung up? You..."

But when she turned to look, the door to the room was closed, Schiller's figure was gone from mid-air, and even the footprints on the ground were gone.

"Where did that man go?" Circe asked.

"Man? What man?"

"The man we just caught. You even knew him; you said his name was... was Schiller..."

"Are you serious? There's no one else here. We are hundreds of meters underground, and you've set up a barrier around us. How could anyone break in?"

Circe looked around suspiciously. She was certain she hadn't hallucinated. That bone-chilling cold still felt like a festering sore, making her break out in a cold sweat. What on earth was that?

"Madam, don't get distracted," Edgar sighed. "Do you have any clue? What's going on with that sudden curse? Could it be that even you can't break it?"

"Shut up!" Circe seemed to have been poked in a sore spot. She roared at Edgar. Too many things had exceeded her expectations lately, and there was a strong sense of foreboding in her heart.

"The plan remains unchanged," Circe said. "We must find that girl with the mark. The few humans you controlled are no longer usable, so replace them with a new batch. Anyway, ordinary people will never trace it back to me."

"Alright, Madam, then that Wonder Woman..."

"Don't worry about her; she won't find me," Circe turned her back and flicked her hand. "She's just a pathetic sacrifice anyway. The gods of Olympus will eventually get the retribution they deserve, and Wonder Woman is no exception."

A series of hysterical laughter came from the office of Arkham Asylum. Brand slapped the table, laughing so hard he couldn't straighten his waist, but the person sitting in the chair opposite him was not Schiller—or rather, not Schiller in human form.

Coiled on the white chair was a small black snake. The snake was pure black, its scales reflecting a faint light. It was about as long as an adult's arm. However, if one looked closely, one could see the snake rolling its eyes.

"Hahahahaha, Schiller, look at you now! Hahahahahaha!!!" Brand's laughter was already as unbridled as it could get; even if he had hired a choir of clowns, they wouldn't have laughed as hard as he was.

"Cut the crap and turn me back!" the little black snake flicked its tongue. "Stop laughing! How was I supposed to know she would act so decisively?"

Brand wiped his tears and said, "You really thought everyone would play by your rules? Some people just don't reason with you."

"Hurry! Turn! Me! Back!"

Brand coughed twice and said, "Don't look at me like that. This is a witchcraft curse, not part of my power system. I can't turn you back."

Schiller looked at him with suspicious eyes—or rather, it was no longer suspicion, but a blatant lack of belief.

"I'm telling the truth. Witchcraft is a very special power; it is the source of the magical power in this universe, at least for now. If I were to forcibly interfere, I might be discovered by the source. Are you sure you want me to alert the enemy?"

Schiller tried to control his new body, then struggled to lift the front half of his body and said, "Then how am I supposed to turn back?"

"You have to get the person who cast this beast-transformation curse to lift it... If she isn't willing, you have to find a way to eliminate her power, so she can no longer maintain the connection to the curse, to break it."

"Then what can you do? Just stand there and watch?"

"I can still laugh..." Brand saw Schiller looking like he wanted to bite him, so he waved his hand, turned around, and said, "Wait, let me think, there's also this..."

He turned around, took out something from who knows where, and placed it on Schiller's face.

It was a miniature pair of glasses.

"Snakes don't have very good eyesight. This can give you normal human vision, and you also have the snake's sense of smell. It counts as a kind of enhancement."

"I don't want this kind of enhancement," Schiller said irritably. "You must have been here for a while, just standing by and watching the show. I really misjudged you!"

"You can't think of me that badly," Brand said with a pained expression. "After receiving your text, I rushed over as fast as I could, but who told you to get into trouble during the morning rush hour? I was stuck in traffic for over half an hour!"

"When I was in danger, you actually chose to drive here? I really see through you, Brand!"

After they argued for a few sentences, Schiller finally remembered the main point. He said, "At least it wasn't a total loss this time; I finally know who is playing tricks behind the scenes."

"Although I arrived late, I didn't leave early," Brand suddenly said. "I also overheard a few sentences of their conversation. That red-haired witch, the one who cursed you, seems to be looking for a little girl."

Schiller frowned, but he quickly felt that lifting his body like this was tiring, so he chose to coil up and lie down, resting his chin on a section of his own body, and then said.

"Circe... I think Constantine might have some impression of her. Where did you put him?"

"He has some things to do. I think asking his girlfriend would be the same..."

"No," Schiller said helplessly. "She's afraid of snakes."