When the plot-skips players into the game world

Chapter 257 Stupidity Curse

Hayna left, and it was about three or four hours later when Sherlock finally came home.

Aiwass sat on the sofa with crossed legs, fingers interlaced and resting on his abdomen.

There was a hint of dissatisfaction in his tone, "I've waited for you for a long time, Sherlock. I told you before that I was coming."

"Thank you for that,"

Sherlock's expression was somewhat exhausted after he entered the house, "I'm glad you could wait for so long without leaving, my friend."

Afterward, he asked Mrs. Mina for a cup of hot brandy to relieve his headache.

Mrs. Mina hesitated a bit, but still agreed to it.

"You're drinking?"

Witnessing Sherlock's reaction, Aiwass was taken aback.

He remembered that Sherlock was the type to get drunk easily, and didn't have the best tolerance. For this reason, he normally wouldn't touch alcohol—it would embarrass him.

But Aiwass didn't stop Sherlock.

He wanted to see the look of regret on Sherlock's face after he sobered up.

"I need to drink something; I have a bit of a headache,"

Sherlock held his forehead, frowning deeply, "After I 'came back to life,' Director Kent took me away to solve the backlog of cases. I've been busy until now, but I finally cleared the cases from this period."

"...That's not right."

Aiwass was puzzled, "Logically, that workload shouldn't make you feel tired, right?"

Sherlock is an old workhorse.

Moreover, he was the kind who volunteered for overtime and actively sought it—he was like a large dog, brimming with boundless energy. If he didn't diffuse that energy through work, a sort of "walk for the dog," he would become uncomfortable and restless at home.

He could even work for three days straight, sleeping only four or five hours in total. And even then, he would only feel fatigue; a good sleep and he would bounce back refreshed.

Furthermore, Sherlock had progressed in rank—his cognitive abilities should have been further developed accordingly.

"It's not fatigue. It's a headache,"

Sherlock corrected Aiwass.

"What's the difference?"

"Both are dying of hunger, but one is from malnutrition, and the other is from overeating after a long hunger. I am the latter."

Sherlock provided an accurate analogy.

He sat heavily on the couch and began to wolf down the cookies Mrs. Mina had baked for Aiwass, like a starving ghost reincarnated.

The accumulated fatigue melted away in the blink of an eye, and the headache from the jumbled thoughts was gradually soothed.

Sherlock couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief, feeling this seldom quietness.

But then, Aiwass removed his right hand.

Sherlock immediately realized what was happening—as soon as Aiwass took his hand away, Sherlock's brain slowly started to turn again.

"...That doesn't seem to get to the root of the problem, Fox!"

Sherlock clutched his head, feeling some discomfort.

"It's just to make you suffer less for now."

Aiwass said coldly, standing up and walking towards Lily.

From her waist bag, Aiwass found black goat wool, charcoal, a small wooden doll, ginger oil, rosemary oil, and a black crystal shard.

Aiwass came over unceremoniously and plucked a lock of hair from Sherlock's head—it was a lock, not a single hair, and the pain made Sherlock jump up from the couch in an instant.

"Still have a headache?"

Aiwass confirmed the extent of Sherlock's headache.

Then in front of Sherlock, he began to set up the ritual.

Dammit, how could it not hurt!

Sherlock was about to curse, but watching the scene, he quieted down and swallowed the words he was about to say.

He watched as Aiwass cut his own finger, applied the blood to the heart of the doll, and wrapped Sherlock's hair around the doll's forehead. Then he channeled his mana into the black crystal shard, crushed it, and inserted some of the sharp pieces, like daggers, into the doll's forehead and heart.

Seeing this, Sherlock, who had initially thought Aiwass was going to use the ritual to heal him, raised an eyebrow, "Is this a ritual?"

"It's a Curse."

Aiwass answered casually, his hands still moving, "Curse of Ignorant Fog... Of course, I prefer to call it the Stupidity Curse."

Immediately afterward, Aiwass wrapped it with the black goat wool, lit a fire with the charcoal, and placed the doll into it.

As Aiwass chanted, Sherlock gradually felt as if a hazy fog had risen in his brain. The constant headache from the active thinking started to dissipate as well.

"... Can a curse heal sickness?"

Sherlock covered his forehead, somewhat astonished.

"Even poison can save lives."

Aiwass chuckled, "Learn from it, little brother! You better thank me!"

Sherlock clenched his teeth, and was about to retort, but then remembered that Aiwass had just treated him. He could only reluctantly say thanks.