The Shepherds Are Dense

Chapter 105: You’re Drunk Already?

This was a truth Aiwass had never anticipated.He suddenly understood why his grandfather, despite having connections with so many transcendents and such a vast network, chose to live as an obscure, penniless poet in a remote village.

His grandfather was hiding from something!

Aiwass also realized why, despite his biological parents following the Path of Devotion and the Path of Beauty, and his adoptive father not being tied to the Path of Transcendence, he himself had developed an inexplicable obsession with demonology years ago.

It was a tendency etched into his bloodline.

Gifted transcendents often passed their path’s inclinations to their children—not as inherited talent, but as inherited desire, or rather, inherited “debt.”

If one lacked the talent, that might be a blessing.

But if someone reached their level cap without performing an advancement ritual, the call of their path would grow stronger.

Having a child would transfer this overflowing “call” to the offspring, freeing the parent from its grip.

This was why ancient nobles often had many heirs.

Nobles were typically high-level transcendents, but many were unwilling or afraid to advance further.

They produced heirs to dilute the path’s influence on their soul.

Yet, suppressing their path too long often led to the firstborn suffering mental instability.

During the Hrasl Empire, royal scholars, unaware of the true cause, called this the “Eldest Child Curse.”

They believed it was a curse from an apostle, explaining why the eldest heirs, most likely to inherit family duties, were prone to mental illness.

Nobles who focused on their careers and delayed having children until their thirties or forties often saw their firstborn go mad.

Commoners, however, rarely faced this issue, and nobles who married young were also spared.

The scholars’ solution was simple: urge nobles to marry and have children early.

Marrying soon after embarking on the transcendent path meant children were born before the path’s advancement stalled.

While the scholars didn’t understand the mechanics, this approach worked.

Afterward, “cursed” children were often born from “illegitimate” unions.

Early marriage controlled legitimate heirs, but not those born out of wedlock.

If a noble’s affair involved another transcendent, the resulting child was likely to carry the curse.

The Seed of the Illusory Demon often formed in such children.

Even among knight families, few knew this secret.

Aiwass’s grandfather, an unofficial transcendent, couldn’t have known.

His refusal to advance meant his children inherited some of the drive toward the Path of Transcendence.

This was one reason why illegal paths persisted in Avalon despite harsh punishments like lengthy imprisonment or execution.

They could never be fully eradicated.

Since Giulio hadn’t gone mad, he likely wasn’t the firstborn.

There must have been an older sibling, meaning Aiwass’s grandfather Jacob was probably quite old.

“At the start, the Scaleless Hand was a folk ritual society,” Sherlock continued.

“Their members weren’t demonologists but ‘Curse-Rite Mages,’ specializing in rituals and curses.

They didn’t possess demonology knowledge—after all, demonology requires vast sacrifices and materials for trial and error.

“They secretly taught ritual knowledge, helping others with ceremonies and cursing corrupt judges or officials, earning them a good reputation among the common folk.

Later, survivors of Alktoes, backed by Star Antimony, brought legitimate demonology knowledge and joined the Scaleless Hand, eventually rising to leadership.”

Sherlock went on, “Since they were all illegal transcendents of the Path of Transcendence, united against the crown, most in the Scaleless Hand saw little difference.

The essence of the Path of Transcendence is relentless rebellion, unbound by morals or rules.

Demonology was far easier to learn than rituals or curses.

“Over time, demonologists outnumbered Curse-Rite Mages.

When a pureblood giant took control of the Scaleless Hand, they renamed it the Noble Red and replaced all high-ranking members with hybrid giants.

Some old-school Curse-Rite Mages, including your grandfather Jacob, distanced themselves and went into hiding.

The Curse-Rite Mage tradition stemmed from demonologists who viewed demons as vile, dangerous, and uncontrollable.

Their view of the Path of Transcendence differed—they saw demon contracts as an impure, unsafe shortcut to power.”

Sherlock sneered, “My investigation shows that every Curse-Rite Mage who left the Noble Red is dead—cursed, along with their families.

The truth is obvious.”

“So that’s how it is,” Aiwass remarked.

He admired Sherlock’s investigative skills.

“When did you start digging into this?”

“Last Sunday,” Sherlock replied, sipping his wine with a smug smile.

“It began when Edward and I investigated the Sweater Brotherhood.

To curb my curiosity, Edward dangled another puzzle to distract me.

But I know psychology—when someone shifts topics under pressure, the new topic often ties back to the original.

“He mentioned the ‘Redstone’ case: powerful, compact alchemical bombs smuggled from the Pelican Bar to Avalon.

Avalon lacks the technology to make such bombs.

Its alchemy is too underdeveloped, even importing explosives for mining.

These bombs must be new creations by Star Antimony’s alchemists.

The Pelican Bar’s reputation as a smuggling hub supports this.

“So, I had a bold theory: the Noble Red, a folk society of Avalonians, might have been backed by Star Antimony from the start.”

“Indeed,” Aiwass nodded in agreement.

“That’s not all,” Sherlock said, leaning back with a grin, his cheeks flushed as he tapped the table rhythmically.

“When I dug into the Noble Red’s early history, I hit a wall.

That’s when I realized—they likely changed their name.

An illegal transcendent group doesn’t rename without reason, like a change in ownership.

“So, I looked into other Path of Transcendence societies and found the Scaleless Hand, which vanished fifty years ago.

I confirmed they’re the same group.

While investigating, I noticed a founder’s name: Jacob Alexander, who died of typhoid fourteen years ago.

I’d just investigated you, Aiwass, and was sensitive to ‘Alexander’ and ‘fourteen years ago.’

“Yes, Aiwass, he’s your grandfather.

Once I reached that point, the truth fell into place.”

Sherlock set down his half-empty glass and turned to Bishop Mathers, his voice louder than usual.

“I disagree with your earlier stance.

I believe the Inspectorate’s claim is true, just with some omissions.

“Jacob Alexander might have hidden secrets in an unpublished poem.

His eldest child was dead, and his second, Giulio, followed the Path of Devotion.

The Noble Red became Avalon’s largest, and only, Path of Transcendence folk society, and the Curse-Rite Mage tradition was effectively extinct.

“He had reason to leave hidden clues.

I suspect he realized the ‘Alexander’ name was cursed and tried to leave evidence.

But someone followed the curse, found him, and destroyed his manuscripts.

“The Iron Hook Demon can teleport via curses.

If Jacob hid his location but was still cursed through his bloodline, it explains why he was attacked in a remote village and his manuscripts were taken.”

Sherlock’s flushed face and bright eyes locked onto Aiwass.

“I’m right, aren’t I… Mr. Fox?”

Aiwass blinked, neither confirming nor denying.

“How did you guess?” he asked.

“Simple,” Sherlock said.

“I figured you’d reached the second energy level.

When I picked you up from the Hall of Silver and Tin, Her Highness said, ‘We can put Mr. Fox’s matter aside for now.’

Looking back, she likely recognized you then.

“Don’t look at me like that, Bishop.

I didn’t eavesdrop.

It was deduction.

“You gave Aiwass the chapel key, guiding him onto the transcendent path.

I saw the key on his wheelchair when I met him that day.

I remembered it.

When you saw the news, you weren’t shocked or pleased—you were angry, as if betrayed.

You likely thought Aiwass couldn’t wield that sword, suspecting he hid another transcendent profession.

“But when I came down, you two were chatting happily, even about hidden pasts.

That could only mean you confirmed Aiwass had reached the second energy level.”

Sherlock smiled.

“I’ll clarify: you’re overthinking, Bishop.

Aiwass is a newcomer to the transcendent path.

He underwent his first advancement ritual a week ago, alongside mine for the Path of Wisdom.

He’s a true genius of the Path of Devotion—not a bad thing.

Far better than being a genius of the Path of Transcendence.”

[What if I’m both?] Aiwass thought, raising an eyebrow.

Once Sherlock recognized Aiwass, his wariness toward “Mr. Fox” vanished.

He wasn’t embarrassed about missing it earlier but admired Aiwass’s disguise.

“Looking back, you left plenty of clues,” Sherlock said.

“Your grasp of poetry, your playboy charm, and Her Highness’s fondness for you—I should’ve seen it sooner.

My arrogance blinded me, clinging to my initial deductions and dismissing other possibilities.

My thinking was swayed by the Path of Transcendence too.”

Now visibly drunk, Sherlock’s usual cool reserve gave way to warmth and enthusiasm.

“I have an idea, Aiwass!

You’ll love this adventure.

When you and Haina get your break, it’ll be near the new year, and she’ll head home.

Why don’t we join her and investigate your grandfather’s true cause of death?”

“Didn’t you already figure it out?” Aiwass asked.

“That’s just secondhand data, Mr. Fox.

You’re not thorough enough, missing some details.”

Sherlock’s eyes sparkled with childlike curiosity and pride in his skills.

“Only the Iron Hook Demon teleported there, not a true demonologist.

I bet your grandfather left other clues, ones demons couldn’t destroy.

He knew demonologists and their methods, after all.

“What, not interested?”

“I am interested,” Aiwass said, shaking his head.

“But there’s one issue, Sherlock.

What about Yulia?”

“Bring her along!

You’re a second-level priest.

By mid-month break, you might even advance again.

This complex case has boosted my Path of Wisdom significantly.

I’m sure I’ll hit the third energy level by next month.

You’re such a genius, advancing in a day—surely you won’t lag behind me?”

Sherlock, now fully flushed, egged Aiwass on.

“A third-level priest—what’s to fear?

Aren’t you curious about your grandfather’s secrets?”

[Are you drunk already?] Aiwass thought, sensing something off.

This twenty-six-year-old acted like a teenager thrilled by a new game, radiating pure joy.

If he hadn’t stepped onto the Path of Authority, this might have been his true self.

Aiwass finally understood why Sherlock avoided alcohol—he couldn’t handle it.

The hot apple brandy, about forty proof, was diluted with at least two-thirds apple juice, served in a slightly oversized teacup.

Sherlock had barely drunk half—maybe a hundred milliliters.

That’s like half a beer!

How could an adult, a transcendent no less, have such a pathetic tolerance?

“You should probably skip the drinks next time, Sherlock,” Aiwass advised sincerely.

“As for Eagle Cape Village, shouldn’t we ask Senior Haina first?”

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