Detective Agency of the Bizarre Chapter 691

The Return of the Heroes 691: 210.

The Return of the Heroes —Snap—

Crisp clapping echoed around the sandpit.

Oubline lowered his hand, his face as chiseled as a carved statue, and pursed his lips as he looked around, “Count off.

Demon Hunters, Oubline.”

As if a switch named ‘voice’ had been turned on, the sandpit was occupied by a mix of coughing, the sound of water bottles being opened, and loud breathing.

“Kneil Burn, Demon Slayer.”

“True Vision Nightwatch Norbert Harrington.”

“Demon Slayer Eriks Brand.”

People in the sandpit began to speak one after another, rolling over to the last one.

He spat out sand, his voice dry, “Copeland, Senior Investigator.”

Hurried footsteps came from above the sandpit, as a figure slid from the top, kicking up a great deal of sand.

“Don’t rush; we still have at least three more minutes,” Oubline said to the person who burst in unexpectedly.

“Sentry, what did you find?”

“The oasis is very close to us,” the disheveled man called Sentry said with his head hanging, panting heavily.

“Maybe less than a mile away.”

“Of course.” The sentry lifted his head, revealing a black and terrifying left eye.

“Did you see it then?” Oubline asked again.

The sentry shook his head, “But I felt it, right in the oasis.”

“Here, hold this, junior investigator,” Oubline said as he pulled a notebook from his inner pocket and tossed it to Copeland.

“We are already very close, and the closer we get, it’s ritual will seamlessly exist; you must remain quiet throughout.”

“Find it, destroy it, that is our sole mission,” Oubline again looked at Copeland, who was frantically catching the notebook.

“Copeland, you have an additional task—record information.

If we fail to resolve it, ensure the intelligence is sent out.”

Copeland bowed his head, opening the crumpled brown-covered notebook.

[Its ritual range is expanding daily.

When we entered, a small town three hundred miles from the oasis already had no survivors.

To state the obvious, it might not take long before it becomes The Third Calamity]

[The good news is that animals causing noise will not be attacked, only humans will.

At least within its range, it won’t become a completely barren dead land.

However, it’s strange that if we sit on horses, the noise made by the horses counts toward us, perhaps because we drive them…?]

The handwriting changed in the next section.

[The guy above is Kyran Karen, I am Nameless Richards, the new user of this notebook.

It’s apparent that users are consumed faster than the pages of this notebook, so I suggest that successors write down who they are.

If we succeed, we’ll all become celebrities; if we fail, we are still pioneers]

[The closer we get, the longer the ritual lasts, the shorter the intervals…

it’s possible that the ritual will fill 24 hours by the time we get close to it]

Copeland silently read the messages left by the previous owners.

Apart from their findings, the notebook itself held a tragic consistency.

The further in, the quicker the handwriting changed, the shorter the content became.

Nameless Richards’ guess was absolutely correct.

We are now ten miles from the oasis; it has already turned into an eternal night like the winter of Northland County.

The short, pitiful intervals are mixed in with the long ritual times]

[I am Little Henry, the previous notebook owner didn’t even get it before he died.

I think it’s necessary to write down the name of the previous owner Qunlan Price.

From an idealistic point of view, those who hold the notebook usually don’t live long; does that mean this is a cursed notebook?]

[I am Troy Mack, about…

seven miles from the oasis.

If the next owner reads this message, please go to 33 Benning District in Arlen Kingdom and tell my wife and daughter]

This message ended abruptly, and the handwriting changed yet again.

[I am Ubuli Karam, five miles.

There were two owners before me who didn’t manage to leave any content; sadly, I didn’t get to know their names either.

No new information, I am writing this simply hoping someone will remember me]

There were only a few pages left in the notebook, the rest were blank.

Copeland had already flipped to the end.

Copeland looked up at Oubline, who was arranging things, and picked up a pen to write down something new.

perhaps the last owner”

“We are a mile outside the oasis, and there are only seven or eight minutes left.

I think once we enter the oasis, the ritual will exist seamlessly…”

He wanted to write more, but Oubline gestured for him to lower his voice, “Time is almost up, stay quiet, and proceed as planned.”

Copeland put the notebook in his pocket, and the Exorcists, who had rested for a few minutes, climbed out of the sandpit, carrying the oil lamp, accompanied by the only horse, quietly walking towards the distant silhouette in the coming night.

Copeland’s palm rested on the notebook through his clothes.

Their deaths were utterly worthless, meaningless.

These elite should have been investigating and resolving anomalies everywhere, not dying as expendables on the road to that damned oasis.

But—if they hadn’t come, who else would have?

A clear sound echoed in the silence.

The Exorcists looked toward the direction of the sound, beneath Oubline’s feet, his boot sinking into a hole.

There was an old riverbed there, and moist sand had formed a hollow shell over it.

Oubline opened his mouth, a mumbled, obscure murmur suddenly arose around him, and the next moment, his figure disappeared.

There was no time for sorrow or lamentation; having witnessed this scene many times, the surviving Exorcists continued onward.

Oubline had arranged everything, even though he was already dead.

A hundred meters outside the oasis, Norbert Harrington stepped on a dried branch hidden under the sand.

Entering the oasis, Kneil Burn stepped on the bushes.

Near the village inside the oasis, the stones mentioned by Eriks Brand hit the dead tree.

Outside the village, the sentinel stumbled quietly but steadied himself, only the oil lamp in his hand swaying and creaking.

He only had time to turn around, as the sinister pupil shedding blood and tears bade farewell to Copeland.

The land seemed occupied by a silent evil deity, where any noise was deemed heretic and faced judgment.

As twilight was about to vanish, Copeland finally entered the village and saw the evil spirit known as The Third Calamity…

a thin silhouette hanging under a dead tree.

Copeland silently sketched the scene he witnessed in his notebook, placed it in the saddlebag of the following horse, and watched it gallop away, disturbing the land yet departing unscathed.

Withdrawing his gaze, Copeland set down the oil lamp and walked towards the dead tree holding the silhouette, which now became clear.

Then he heard the heartbeat thumping deep inside his chest.

Two hundred miles away from the oasis, people of the town eagerly awaited the return of their heroes, the expeditionary force.

That deep night, a brown horse emerged from the darkness, charging into the town.

People recognized it, gathered around it, and someone opened the saddlebag.

Inside was only a wrinkled brown-covered notebook.