Chapter 367 Lingering Protection

The woman’s eyes were bloodshot, filled with suppressed madness and fear. Even the Watchman's words, which had calmed her and pulled her back from the brink, hadn't erased the shadows etched into her mind.

Agatha had seen that look many times. She met the woman’s gaze calmly, allowing her to settle down before speaking,

The woman’s shoulders twitched violently. She lowered her head, clutching her hair, as if unable to meet Agatha’s eyes. She just kept repeating,

Agatha frowned and asked,

As she spoke, she reached into her coat and pulled out a vial of potion. With a deft flick, she popped the lid, and a calming aroma wafted through the air, enveloping them.

The Watchman's potion took effect. The long-haired woman on the sofa began to breathe more steadily. She raised her head slightly, peering out from behind her hair, her voice low. "I… I hit it in the back of the head with a hammer. It fell down, but even with a dent that big in its head, it didn't die. It struggled back up, so I kicked it further in and shut the bathroom door… It was banging and shouting, a horrible sound. It was early morning, and it…"

The woman stopped, taking a few seconds to compose herself before continuing.

Agatha nodded gently, piecing together the story in her mind. "And?" she asked.

The woman shook her head, her voice filled with terror. "I didn't see it… I didn't see it change…"

Agatha’s expression turned serious. She turned her head, but before she could speak, a guard reported from the side,

The doors and windows were sealed, the locks untouched. It had simply appeared inside the resident’s home.

More alarming than a straightforward assault, this seemingly spontaneous manifestation sent a chill of unease through her.

And there was more to this case than just that.

Agatha looked down at the woman on the sofa.

She recalled previous cases, particularly the one at 42 Hearthstone Street – the folklorist who returned from the dead and the female apprentice unknowingly subjected to severe cognitive contamination. In those typical cases, the survivors couldn’t even distinguish the imitation.

But this woman had.

She hadn’t been affected by cognitive contamination?

Agatha chose her words carefully. "Can you describe… how you knew?"

The woman became agitated. "I just knew! It wasn’t him! His eyes weren't right! He doesn't look like that!"

Agatha frowned and asked,

The woman became even more agitated, practically leaping off the sofa as if to attack the Watchman. The madness and terror returned to her bloodshot eyes, seemingly extinguishing all reason. The nearby guards reacted instantly, moving to restrain the distraught woman, but Agatha was faster.

The Watchman raised her cane and gently tapped the woman on the forehead.

The woman instantly fell unconscious.

The short-haired female captain shook her head. "I'll have them clean up the scene and arrange for the woman to be sent to the nearest sanatorium after she wakes up. Do you have any other instructions?"

As she spoke, she looked around the small apartment.

Agatha instructed,

Agatha nodded, then walked past the living room and into the small lavatory-turned-bathroom.

On the floor near the showerhead, the marks left by the guards during their forensic examination were still visible.

The imitation had been confined to this bathroom, but in the end… less than a test tube’s worth of residue remained.

This was highly unusual.

While the imitations were bizarre in nature and mysterious in origin, one thing was certain: they were composed of a certain amount of physical matter. Even if they disintegrated, that matter didn't simply vanish.

Agatha frowned. She circled the narrow lavatory twice, then stopped abruptly, her eyes fixed on a spot.

The drainpipe entrance in the corner of the wall, covered in rust. She quickly went to the drain, tapping the cast-iron grate with the tip of her tin cane, peering into the dark hole.

The darkness within the drainpipe was bottomless, as if concealing all the answers.

“…No way… Damn it!"

Agatha took a sharp breath, realizing a possibility that made her hands and feet turn cold.

She hurried back to the living room, issuing rapid-fire commands.

The squad leader was startled by the string of orders, but without question, her instincts to obey snapped her upright. "Yes, ma'am!"

After issuing the orders, Agatha returned to the sleeping woman on the sofa.

Why hadn't this woman been affected by cognitive or memory manipulation, and instead recognized the imitation?

Even now, Agatha was deeply concerned about this.

At that moment, a guard who had been searching for clues in the other rooms suddenly ran into the living room, holding something in his hands.

Agatha turned to see that the guard was carrying a small plaster statue that looked quite old.

It was a profile bust of the Frost Queen.

Another guard in the room said softly,

Agatha’s expression was grave. She stepped forward and took the roughly ten-centimeter-tall bust, examining its details carefully.

She made a quick assessment, then looked up. "Where did you find this?"

The guard who had found the Queen’s profile statue immediately reported,

Agatha didn't speak for a moment, simply staring at the plaster statue in her hands.

The Frost Queen… even half a century later, there were still citizens in the city who secretly commemorated the Queen. This fact in itself didn’t surprise her.

After all, it had been a glorious era. She had been a great Queen – a mere fifty years wasn’t enough to erase all traces of the Queen’s era from the city. Some of the old people who had lived through that time, and their descendants, were still deeply influenced by it.

There were scattered Queen supporters among the common people. Fifty years ago, such secret acts of remembrance would have been punishable by hanging, but today, the restrictions had been relaxed considerably. In her years as a Watchman, Agatha had heard of such cases more than once.

In most cases, if it was just spontaneous acts of remembrance, the Watchmen and law enforcement officials wouldn’t investigate too deeply. Sometimes they would even pretend not to see it, or just issue a verbal warning.

This family had only collected a Queen's bust, a few coins, and a booklet. It wasn't a big deal.

But considering the recent anomaly in this residence, Agatha couldn't help but overthink.

The person involved in this incident hadn’t been affected by cognitive interference. Instead, she had seen through the imitation. Could it be… related to these Queen memorabilia?