*Chapter 56: Goethe: I Have Special Communication Techniques!*

According to the doctor’s labels, all the bodies in the morgue were listed as having died from disease or accidents. However, Goethe’s examination revealed that some of these bodies had actually been murdered!

"There are seventeen bodies in the morgue. Excluding the thirteen that died naturally, four were clearly strangled. These four had strong physiques, with calluses on their fingers and palms—clearly well-trained, yet there was no sign of resistance!"

"And all of them were brought in almost at the same time!"

"So…"

"Drugged?"

Goethe couldn’t help but speculate.

He then glanced at the doctor's signature on the files of the four bodies labeled as accidental deaths: Muer.

But soon after, Goethe shook his head.

What did this have to do with him?

He was just a corpse carrier.

At least, until he fully understood this 'Sanctuary' over the next week, he was just a diligent 'corpse carrier.'

Given the three-month timeframe, Goethe made a preliminary plan.

But plans never keep up with changes.

At the end of his shift, Goethe received a notice from the deputy director.

"You don’t need to come in tomorrow!"

The deputy director, 'Muer,' said coldly.

"You don’t need to ask why."

"All you need to know is that you’re fired."

"Now…"

"Go collect your pay, and then leave the hospital."

Moreover, before Goethe could ask anything, the deputy director continued.

After speaking, he turned and walked away.

Goethe narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze focused.

His past career back in his hometown instinctively alerted him that something was wrong.

"Hopefully, it's not what I think!"

Goethe whispered to himself.

Before fully understanding this unfamiliar environment, Goethe didn’t want certain 'things' to happen prematurely.

But, as plans often fall short of reality, things seldom go as one wishes.

As soon as Goethe collected his pay and left the hospital, he keenly sensed that he was being followed.

The people tailing him were doing a terrible job of it.

Or rather…

They didn’t even care to hide.

Glancing at the two burly men following him, Goethe quickened his pace.

The two burly men grinned and sped up as well.

Once they had Goethe cornered in the middle, a dagger was pressed against his side.

"If you don’t want to die, come with us."

The assailant holding the dagger whispered.

"Okay, okay."

Goethe appeared frightened and panicked.

Then, he obediently followed the two burly men into a nearby alley.

"I told you, there’s no need to be so cautious. The boss is always too careful."

"He’s just a corpse carrier. After Dirk deals with that deputy director, we could have just handled him then."

"There’s no need for us to make a special trip."

As soon as they entered the alley, the unarmed assailant sneered at the sight of Goethe trembling with fear.

"It’s precisely because the boss is cautious that we managed to take out those four guys with minimal losses!"

"And if one of them had sensed something was wrong and escaped, we’d have wasted half a year’s work. If that guy becomes suspicious, we won’t get a second chance."

The assailant holding the dagger reminded him.

The two didn’t bother hiding anything in front of Goethe.

Because, in their eyes, Goethe was already a dead man.

And the dead keep secrets the best.

Dirk?

Half a year’s planning?

That guy’s suspicion?

Goethe listened carefully, absorbing every detail.

If he initially thought that those four people were involved in gang warfare, now he wasn't so sure.

Of course, when faced with uncertainty, Goethe didn't mind asking questions.

He believed the two attackers in front of him would be more than willing to cooperate.

After all, he had special methods of communication.

Just like when the attacker holding the dagger was about to slit his throat, he raised his hand and grabbed the attacker's wrist.

Crack!

With extraordinary-level [Hand-to-Hand Combat] and [Grappling Mastery], combined with a physical strength nearly three times that of an ordinary person, he instantly crushed the attacker's wrist.

The dagger fell straight down, and Goethe caught it, immediately driving it into the attacker's throat, silencing the scream that hadn't even left his mouth.

The remaining attacker froze, completely caught off guard.

By the time the attacker reacted, Goethe had already kicked him to the ground, covered his mouth with one hand, and stabbed him more than twenty times, carefully avoiding any vital spots.

It wasn't lethal.

But it hurt!

The attacker, whose mouth was covered, had already started convulsing.

"I'll ask, you answer. Understand?"

Goethe said, pressing the dagger against the attacker's neck. After the frantic nodding, Goethe pulled out the handkerchief that was gagging him—

"How many of you are there?"

"Four."

"Who are they?"

"Me, Cyr, Tuck, and our boss 'Zorta.'"

"Who were the four people you killed earlier?"

"They were a small mercenary group called 'Swordbearers.'"

"Who is the guy you mentioned?"

"Andinan, a rich young man who just inherited his mother's estate and is planning to travel. The 'Swordbearers' were mercenaries he hired to protect him, a bunch of nobodies. We got introduced to him through someone, but the two sides haven't met yet, so we were planning to pose as the 'Swordbearers,' become his bodyguards, and then kidnap him."

"The middleman was already silenced by our boss."

Goethe asked a question, and the attacker answered.

As they continued, the attacker didn't even need Goethe to ask anymore; he just started spilling everything.

Because the pain was too much.

Not only that, but the attacker could clearly feel his blood continuously draining from his body.

The shadow of death overwhelmed him, and he broke down.

Some people are like that—they don't care about other people's lives, but when it's their own?

They treasure it dearly.

"Where's your hideout?"

Goethe continued to ask.

This time, the attacker hesitated a bit, but after Goethe stabbed him again, he immediately shouted.

"On, on Chuck Street, number 21!"

"Chuck Street?"

Goethe quickly recalled the location of this street in his memory, then nodded and continued, "Good, I'm very satisfied with your answers. Now I'll ask you one more time, how many of you are there?"

Another round of questioning.

And it wasn't the last.

After mixing up the order of the questions and asking four more times, Goethe confirmed that the attacker wasn't lying.

Seeing that the attacker was barely alive from blood loss, Goethe's dagger slashed across his throat.

Then, Goethe quickly cleaned up the scene.

Two daggers, two wallets, no guns found.

He habitually wiped the daggers clean and slipped them into his belt—though he preferred the sleeves or pant legs, he had to settle since he didn't have the proper straps.

Next, Goethe checked the wallets.

The wallets contained a total of paper currency: 76.

Coins: 6 gold crowns, 7 silver crowns, 8 copper crowns.

Among them, 1 paper bill equals 1 silver.

And the salary he had just received was 8 paper bills—his weekly pay and his entire net worth.

After placing the paper bills and coins in his own wallet, Goethe glanced at his wealth indicator, still showing [0/100], no movement.

"Can't even break past 1?"

"As expected..."

"The accumulation of wealth is a difficult but enjoyable process!"

Goethe murmured to himself, gently caressing the coins in his hand.

The smell of cash, the feel of coins—it always gave Goethe an inexplicable sense of pleasure.

A few seconds later, Goethe left the alley and headed back toward the hospital.

It wasn't that he was greedy; Goethe simply felt it necessary to have a chat with Deputy Director Mur about the issue of 'unemployment compensation' after his wrongful termination.

In his own special way.

(End of chapter)