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The relief camp in Songpa District was in chaos.

Well, it’s only natural that there’d be chaos.

With blood flowing like a river and the sight of peeled human skin floating on top, it would be strange if there wasn’t a stir.

In the middle of the blood puddle stood the Gray Reaper, surrounded by soaked clothing and belongings, painting quite the unique scene.

It would make for a great horror movie poster, but that was the problem.

Reporters had flocked in, eager to capture at least one more photo, shoving their cameras in every direction.

The soldiers were desperately pushing them back, but it simply wasn’t enough.

Even if they tried harder, it wouldn’t stop the articles from coming out.

Probably another urban legend related to the Gray Reaper would be added to the mix.

By this morning, headlines like ‘People Gone Overnight… Is the Gray Reaper the Culprit?!’ would be excitedly published.

With the atmospheric photos being snapped right now, this news would sweep across the nation.

The unfortunate part was that while it benefited us to let the notoriety around the Gray Reaper flourish, I also felt frustrated that I couldn’t prevent such a situation despite being in charge.

Perhaps if I had kept the main gate shut and played dumb, we could’ve let it slide, but the soldiers, startled by the blood, had already flung the door open, allowing the reporters to snap their photos.

Even on the day of the operation, a soldier had left their post, causing this mess, and had even opened the gate without permission.

I could feel stress pounding at my temples.

Normally, we would organize this chaos and begin our work, but we had no time.

If I thought about the butterflies spreading around Songpa District and the countdown to the missile launch, we had no time to waste.

We had about 24 hours left.

Before that, we needed to secure and destroy our targeted object.

Leaving the reporters to the soldiers, only the personnel called for the search entered the now silent camp.

*

As we stepped inside the camp, we were greeted by a massive pool of blood.

Just by looking, it seemed that more than half of the people in the camp had died here.

This was evident from both the amount of blood and the scattered belongings and clothing.

The Gray Reaper, responsible for this tragedy, was hopping around on top of the blood.

To my one-eyed glasses, it looked like someone was trying to shoo away butterflies, but to others, it probably appeared as a lunatic object playing gleefully on the blood.

As expected, everyone except for the blind old man seemed quite uneasy about this.

To draw attention, I clapped my hands and commanded.

“Alright, as previously informed, spread out and search for the object. If you find it, shoot up a flare. We will be preparing in the center of the camp.”

Clearly, being professionals paid a hefty price, they immediately dispersed and started searching their designated areas.

“Whoa, there’s a wall shaped like the Reaper here!”

While moving toward the camp center, my junior shouted that he found something curious.

Turning my head to check as per his call, amidst the terrible destruction, there were some interesting traces.

There was a wall with various shaped holes.

Reaper-shaped holes, palm-shaped holes, and footprints.

There were holes of all kinds of shapes.

‘What in the world was the Reaper doing here?’

It was a puzzling trace.

*

The detective had released people all around the camp.

To eliminate the butterflies, certain criteria had to be met.

[Break the black mirror.]

That “black mirror” object was probably the one producing the butterflies.

Most of the breeding objects up to now had been like that.

If the detective was thinking that there was a “black mirror” here, surely he had some basis for that, right?

Of course, it seemed the detective didn’t even know whether what he was looking for was a mirror or not.

He always referred to it as “the object.”

Well, if he wasn’t looking at the destruction conditions like I was, it would be hard to identify that the object needing destruction was the “black mirror.”

I watched the detective’s actions with great interest, waiting for a chance to emerge someday.

*

Ultimately, the search ended in failure.

At least within the camp, there were no objects that could be discovered through normal searching.

The search team I had mobilized had fulfilled their role.

I sent them back early before the old man’s work began.

There was nothing good for a lot of people to witness the old man’s work.

I glanced at Watson in my right hand, then turned to the waiting old man and spoke.

“Old man, I’ll leave it to you now.”

“Okay.”

The old man responded briefly, opened a red-stained book, and began driving the large nails packed inside into the surrounding ground.

The chilling aspect was that once the nails were driven in, it was as though blood was gushing out of the ground like a river.

The old man, who had surrounded himself with the nails, closed the book and knelt down.

“Ahhh!”

The old man’s scream filled the camp.

And blood tears began to pour from the old man’s eyes like a waterfall.

It was enough to make me think that something was gravely wrong.

When I saw this back then, he hadn’t performed such an elaborate ritual, nor did he look like he was in such pain—what was happening?

“Senior… something is odd. Is it supposed to be like that?”

At my junior’s remark, I looked down at the old man’s feet, and I could see the Book of Foresight burning away like charcoal.

What in the world was going on?

*

I was staring death in the face.

Every day, with every breath, I felt myself turning into a monster.

The urges to destroy arose constantly, and the Book of Foresight kept provoking me.

While searching for a place to die before becoming a monster, a message came in.

It was a young man I owed a great debt to when rescuing my daughter.

At that moment, I had a feeling.

This is where I would die.

So, I came here to repay my debt.

But since entering this camp, I felt like something was off.

A powerful presence, incomparable to the Book of Foresight, was warning me.

[Get out of here right now.]

It was a chilling warning.

I gritted my teeth and ignored that voice.

At least before I die, I wanted to repay my debt.

When the search ended and my turn came, I decided to stake my life on this one question.

‘Where is the object causing the butterflies?’

The woes inflicted on me, due to using the Book of Foresight beyond its limits, made coherent speech difficult, yet the Book of Foresight granted my wish.

If the price was insufficient, then take my life, oh Book of Foresight.

I will give my life here.

Beyond the eyes that can no longer see the light, the red figure shown by the Book of Foresight was reflected.

It was a mirror.

The object the detective was searching for was a mirror.

That… where is its location?!

*

“What?!”

I couldn’t help but be amazed at the sudden turn of events.

The Book of Foresight had turned to ashes, and all the large nails driven into the ground were pulled out in an instant.

The old man, with an expression as if he had figured something out, looked at me and opened his mouth.

As if he was about to say something, the old man’s throat twisted up like a twisted string, and he died right there.

What the hell? Was the essence of the butterflies capable of doing something like this?

“Sen… senior.”

My junior was also pale, shaking at this bizarre phenomenon.

I hurried to the old man, but he had already lost his breath.

I felt that the old man had very little time left, but to leave so suddenly was unexpected.

It clearly looked like foul play.

It didn’t appear to be a side effect of the Book of Foresight.

The old man had surely discovered something.

Just who killed the old man?

Was it the object that produces the butterflies?

If so, then we had to stop the missile strike even more.

An object capable of producing such transcendent occurrences wouldn’t simply be destroyed by a missile attack.

But there were no more options left.

If there was more time, it would be different, but with barely 24 hours left, there was no longer any way.

As I turned my gaze, I saw Watson in my right hand.

That’s right, Watson!

Watson would provide the solution.

Ignoring the troubling omen filling my mind, I made up my mind to choose the only option available.

I raised the lamp in my right hand high and shouted.

“Watson, tell me what the object that serves as the source of these butterfly objects is!”

“Watson, tell me what the object that serves as the source of these butterfly objects is!”

“Watson, tell me what the object that serves as the source of these butterfly objects is!”

Laughter began to spill from the lamp, sounding like giggles.

[No way.]

[No way.]

[No way.]

The lamp in my right hand vibrated wildly.

Then it shot up towards the sky, casting some shadow.

[That’s cheating, Holmes.]

[Using an object to peek at the answers? That’s hardly what Holmes would do.]

[To ask Watson for answers? That too is un-Holmes-like.]

[The fake Holmes must die! Must die! Must die!]

[But Watson is kind, so I’ll give you a chance.]

The shadow of Watson, raised high, uttered a weighty statement.

From that shadow of Watson, the smell of blood wafted strongly.