After canceling the use of the white chess piece, Calvin's voice returned to its original state, no longer imposing.
"So... should we start digging?" He helplessly waved his hand slightly.
What else could they do?
The "Sealing Mark" had failed.
Hearing this command, several team mbers looked at each other.
Dig? Dig with what?
This... they hadn't brought any shovels.
Dig with their bare hands?
They were fully ard, their trench coat pockets and linings stuffed with Law Objects, talismans, ergency potions, and enchanted bullets for dealing with supernatural threats.
But there wasn't a single tool for rough work or digging up dirt.
The scene fell into an awkward silence, and then they all looked at "Savage" Wood at the sa ti.
Victor was a logistics support, proficient in astrology and rune analysis, but his muscle strength and combat skills were roughly equivalent to an adult husky—encountering two larger stray dogs would be a life-or-death situation. Anlina's "Thug" was more specialized against intelligent beings, mainly for intimidation with a small amount of self-enhancent.
Neither was really suited for digging.
So, the only one truly fitting was "Savage" Wood.
Watching his sister and Victor both looking at him at the sa ti, Wood suddenly had a bad feeling.
What are you doing, what are you doing, what are you DOING!
Why are you all looking at ?
The Savage doesn't have any digging bonuses, you know.
Don't take the word "Savage" so literally, okay?
I'm a "Savage," not a hyena.
Don't discriminate against "Savages," alright? If you keep looking at like that, I'll really start piling caps on you.
He naturally couldn't say anything harsh to his dear sister, so he turned his head toward Victor not far away.
Facing Victor's direction, looking at that innocent expression behind the sunglasses, Wood raised his hand, opened his mouth, and was about to launch a hat trick.
Forget it, let stack ten layers of caps on him first.
"Ah..." Calvin let out a soft sigh, feeling a bit tired as he stepped forward, reached out, and casually pushed Wood aside. "Alright, alright, I'll do it, I'll do it."
As he spoke, he was already nimbly rolling up the cuffs of his high-quality, ticulously tailored dark gray double-breasted long trench coat.
"You two write the reports later."
"Got it." Wood imdiately stepped aside.
Rolling up his sleeves revealed a forearm with strong lines and visible blue veins beneath the skin.
Calvin strode forward, his boots stepping on the ground that had been churned up by vine roots and covered with slippery moss, making a slight "squelching" sound.
One step, two steps...
He approached slowly, not letting his guard down.
He was afraid that tree was trying to trick him.
But just then, the Strange Tree that Samuel had beco suddenly moved.
Centered on that badge, the surrounding light seed to warp as if twisted.
The sensation presented a circular area with a radius of over two ters.
Then that area folded again, flattened, stretched, and transford into a square with sharp edges and corners.
Calvin was very familiar with this process.
This was the manifestation of the "Sealing Mark" taking effect.
Soon, as soon as the square fra took shape, it began to rapidly collapse, becoming flat.
Finally, it turned into a square glass plate, 30 centiters on each side, floating quietly, emitting a faint light.
Soon, the light faded.
This painting lost its anti-gravity floating ability.
Calvin's steps unconsciously quickened a bit as he strode forward, catching the glass plate that was floating in midair and about to fall.
It was cool to the touch, but not heavy.
About the sa as an ordinary glass plate.
It was a translucent square of glass, with a tree painted on the front—a tree blending flesh and bark, growing human organs, exactly the sa as what they had just seen.
A red badge was pressed into the center of the image.
"Why did it suddenly succeed in being contained?" Calvin looked down at the glass, frowning in thought.
Could it be that this was really so kind of ntal containnt object? That it had fought 300 rounds with the "Sealing Mark" in the spiritual world they couldn't see?
But then, when he used the chess piece to restrain it earlier, why wasn't there any Spirituality consumption?
After thinking it over carefully, he couldn't recall any similar cases in his mory.
He held the containnt object in silence, his brow furrowed tightly, forming a deep furrowed "river" shape.
One second, two seconds...
After a few seconds, he took a deep breath and straightened up.
"Let's take it back and lock it up for now." His gaze swept over the three team mbers, his voice returning to its usual calm as he said to them, "When we get back, send a telegram to the higher-ups and ask how a similar situation like this should be handled."
There was no need to wait for the missing Chief. It wasn't that he was certain Grelle was dead, but even if he ca back, he wouldn't be in charge. In the end, the decision was still Calvin's.
"Let's go." With one hand carefully holding the cold glass plate, Calvin used the other to adjust his rolled-up cuff, restoring his deputy chief deanor, and walked toward the carriage at the entrance of the alley.
As he passed by Wood, he glanced at Wood without stopping his pace.
"The 'Sealing Mark' was applied by you two. By convention, you can take fifty percent of this mission's contribution directly. As for the remaining fifty percent, it will be redistributed after we return, based on actual division of labor and report quality."
He didn't stop, speaking as he walked forward.
"Understood." Wood took his sister's hand and followed Calvin.
"Rember to write the report. Writing the report also gets you a bigger share."
"Okay, thank you, Captain."
Calvin still didn't turn back. "You're treating everyone to dinner tonight."
"Mm."
At the alley entrance was a standard-issue four-wheeled carriage from the Public Security Bureau. The body was pitch black, with no fancy noble emblems or gilded decorations. The structure was practical and sturdy, with an open driver's seat at the front and a relatively enclosed carriage at the back. Inside the carriage were two hard, long benches facing each other.
Back in the carriage, Victor went up front to drive, while Calvin and the handcuffed siblings sat in the back, facing each other.
The handcuffed siblings got in first, sitting on one bench. Calvin was the last to board. Holding the containnt object, he casually moved aside the funeral wreath placed on the seat—the one inscribed with "To our dearest Chief, Grelle Irrot, our most beloved predecessor, the guiding light"—to make room for himself.
Yes, they had already bought the funeral wreath in advance.
After all, after finishing a mission, it wouldn't be convenient to go to a funeral supplies store while holding a containnt object. Not only was it undignified, but it could also cause unnecessary trouble.
As experienced mbers of the Public Security Bureau, advance planning was necessary.
They planned to wait a week, and if Grelle still hadn't returned, they would give him a grand funeral.
As the coachman, Victor gently flicked the whip, and the carriage, pulled by a single horse, began to move slowly forward, bumping along the uneven roads of the East District.
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