After escaping Lloyds Bank, Russell didn't slow down for a second—he fired his grappling hook again and again, basically cosplaying Spider-Man across London's rooftops.
Only after putting a good stretch of distance between himself and the bank did he finally stop.
At the same time, the system notification chimed inside his head.
[Promotion Quest (Now You See Me) completed — Title upgraded.]
[Current Fame: Household Name (Malice gain +30%)]
[Mission Rating: S]
[Bonus Attribute Points x2 — delivered]
[Malice +4000]
[Malice Shop inventory updated]
[Malice received from Lestrade and others +90]
Russell leaned against a wall. As he listened to the prompts, the tension in his chest loosened all at once.
He pulled up his status panel and glanced at the so-called two attribute points. They were the real good stuff—without spending a single point of Malice, he could directly upgrade an existing skill or unlock a new one.
Something like that had to be used where it mattered.
He didn't even need to think.
[Skill: Sleight of Hand C++ — upgraded. Current Rank: B. Malice -1200]
[Malice Balance: 3900]
[Skill: Stealth C++ — upgraded. Current Rank: B. Malice -1200]
[Malice Balance: 2700]
Spend Malice first to push Sleight of Hand and Stealth upward—then use attribute points to climb again, maximizing the return.
[Skill: Sleight of Hand B — upgraded. Current Rank: B+. Attribute Point -1]
[Skill: Stealth B — upgraded. Current Rank: B+. Attribute Point -1]
[All Attribute Points spent]
The moment the upgrades took hold, a nameless warmth surged up his spine like an electric current, flooding through his limbs.
He lifted a hand, feeling the night breeze brush over his fingertips—so vividly it was as if he could catch the wind's path.
And the improvement to Stealth gave him an entirely new understanding of the concept of "presence."
He was only standing in an alley's shadow, yet his breathing naturally synced with the rhythm of the night air.
As though he'd merged with the darkness itself.
For a brief moment, Russell even had an illusion:
If he wanted to, he could become a fallen leaf, a scrap of paper—something perfectly "normal" in a passerby's eyes, something they would never remember a second later.
The sensation was strange… and addictive.
So he checked his remaining balance, double-checked shop prices, and decided to push a couple more upgrades anyway.
[Skill: Combat C+ — upgraded. Current Rank: C++. Malice -600]
[Malice Balance: 2100]
[Skill: Listening C+ — upgraded. Current Rank: C++. Malice -600]
[Malice Balance: 1500]
[Skill: Climbing C — upgraded. Current Rank: C+. Malice -300]
[Malice Balance: 1200]
Every deduction came with a subtle metamorphosis—
His muscle memory was reshaped in an instant. His use of strength, his control of balance—everything stepped up to a new tier.
The world's background noise felt filtered away. He could clearly hear the faint splash of a carriage wheel cutting through puddles two blocks away. He could even distinguish the different "voices" of building materials carried on the wind.
Even structures that used to look totally impractical suddenly appeared to have multiple footholds to him.
He felt like he could climb all the way up Big Ben.
Alright, alright—enough already. Stop tempting me to upgrade.
If he kept going, he'd be bankrupt.
Watching his balance plummet from "nearly five digits" to 1200, Russell felt a sharp sting of pain… and a little awe.
No wonder, in his previous life, buying takeout online never felt like spending real money.
Digital numbers were terrifying.
He shook his head, pulled his thoughts back into order, and focused on what he'd actually gained tonight.
By moonlight, he finally saw what he'd stolen.
A stack of Morstan family business contracts, bonds, and assorted financial documents.
"Fate really does work in mysterious ways," Russell murmured.
"How did I end up picking Mary's box?"
He clicked his tongue and carefully slid the papers back into the inner pocket of his coat.
No matter what, these couldn't be handled the way he'd handled Ethan Roy's stuff—casually tossed to The Times.
Better to return them to their rightful owner.
Russell whistled softly, shaking the last traces of upgrade-induced fatigue out of his body.
The night was still long, but his work was done.
He cast one final glance in the direction of Lloyds Bank. The police sirens over there had already become a continuous howl.
Russell pulled up his hood. With a few quick bounds, he vanished completely into the layered rooftops of London.
Time to go home and sleep.
By morning, the rain had stopped. The fog outside his window looked even thicker than usual.
Russell slept like the dead—well past late morning—until Mrs. Hudson knocked on his door to remind him lunch was ready.
He sat on the bed for a while after waking, blankly staring into space, then went into the bathroom and rinsed himself from head to toe.
He'd gotten back last night and collapsed immediately. Didn't even shower.
He needed to scrub off the blood-and-gunpowder stink before going downstairs—otherwise Charlotte would notice.
Ten minutes later, just as Mrs. Hudson was about to come knock again, Russell opened the door.
"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson," he greeted, towel in hand as he dried his hair.
"Russell, why are you taking a bath at noon?"
"I spilled coffee on myself," Russell said with a shrug.
"You clumsy boy… come down and eat. Greg's here too."
"Inspector Lestrade?" Russell lifted an eyebrow, unsurprised.
After what happened last night, it would've been stranger if Lestrade didn't come calling.
He changed into clean clothes, went downstairs, and sat at the table.
Charlotte sat across from him. When she saw him, she flicked her eyes up briefly—then returned to the morning paper in her hands.
"Morning, Mr. Watson," Lestrade said, coffee cup in hand, nodding toward Russell.
"Morning, Inspector Lestrade. And Charlotte."
"Mm." Charlotte answered flatly.
Russell took a sip of hot coffee and looked at Lestrade, wearing a perfectly innocent expression.
"So—what's happened now?"
"More dead bodies?"
"No deaths," Lestrade said with a nod, sounding grim anyway. "But it's not much better. Most of them were knocked out."
"Knocked out?" Russell put on an interested look. "Poison?"
"No. And that's not the main point."
"Then what is?"
Lestrade's gaze sharpened.
"The main point… is Moriarty."
....
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