The Shadow of Great Britain-Chapter 770 - 365 Prometheus Bound

Ding ding dong.

The pleasing sound of the doorbell rang, and the one who pushed open the apartment door was a young man wearing a white shirt and black vest, his face speckled with lively freckles, brown short hair tied back, and his awkward movements instantly revealing him to be a middle school student still immersed in his studies.

He stared at Mrs. Shelley’s eyes for quite a while before puffing up his chest and speaking with a flushed face, "Good afternoon, ma’am. Are you... are you here to visit my sister again today?"

Mrs. Shelley smiled and nodded, then added, introducing Arthur, "Mr. Hastings, this is Mr. Edward Morton-Barrett, Elizabeth’s younger brother."

Arthur took off his gloves and shook the other’s hand warmly, "I am pleased to meet you, Edward."

"Mr. Hastings?"

Upon hearing the name, Edward was first taken aback, then realized and said, "You are the author of ’Hastings Case Files’? The famous detective from Scotland Yard?"

Before Arthur could respond, the young man clenched his fists excitedly, "That’s wonderful! My sister will definitely be very happy to see you! Mrs. Shelley, you truly kept your word, bringing this gentleman here as promised!"

Having said that, he turned his head and yelled into the house, "Sean, Emily! We have guests, quickly brew some tea, prepare some snacks!" novelbuddy.cσ๓

Subsequently, Arthur saw seven or eight little heads popping out from several rooms in the house, including teenagers, eight or nine-year-old children, and even a mischievous youngster half propped on the ground shouting for his brother to arbitrate his cause.

"Edward, come and take care of Winston, he’s taken my toy again!"

"My God!" Ada, who had been following closely behind Arthur, couldn’t help but exclaim with her hand over her mouth, "How many children do they have in their family?"

Mrs. Shelley explained, "The Barrett family has a total of twelve siblings. Elizabeth is the oldest, and Edward is the eldest of the boys. Ever since Mrs. Barrett passed away, the house has become like this. Mr. Barrett may be well-educated and a somewhat successful businessman, but managing the household is definitely not his strong suit."

As they spoke, a male and a female servant had already walked out of the dining room, smiling as they led the guests to the drawing room.

The drawing room was spacious and bright; stepping in, one was greeted by the garden-facing veranda and the ornately carved French floor-to-ceiling windows on both sides. The walls were adorned with wallpaper woven from damask and silk, and in certain corners, one could make out intricate plaster moldings and wainscoting.

Next to the fireplace stood a tall cabinet with an array of tea sets, a built-in bookshelf, and a display cabinet with porcelain and silverware.

Having just sat down in a cotton-wrapped walnut wood chair, a brief glance upwards was enough to perceive the family’s taste in art.

The five murals on the wall all bore a distinctly classical mythological theme.

Prometheus, bound to the Caucasus Mountains by Zeus for stealing the heavenly fire.

Sisyphus, who because of his trickery in abducting Death and rendering the world without death, was punished to roll a giant boulder up a mountain.

Icarus, who, desiring to fly to the sun, had his wax wings melted by its rays, and ultimately plummeted into the sea.

Cronus, the second-generation Divine King, who overthrew his father Uranus’s brutal reign but was in turn overthrown by his son Zeus and eventually imprisoned in Hell.

And Atlas, the Titan condemned to uphold the sky on the western edge of the world due to his failed rebellion against Zeus.

Agares adjusted his glasses and paced with his hands clasped behind his back, scrutinizing the paintings on the wall, one after another.

Seeing this, Arthur took the opportunity while Mrs. Shelley and Ada exchanged pleasantries to ask, "What are you looking at? Aren’t they just some old myths?"

"Old myths?"

The Red Devil laughed softly, "If you only understand these paintings in such a way, that’s really too vulgar. These so-called myths are just exaggerated versions of historical truths. And these historical truths are but the prologue to stories of the future."

At this point, the Red Devil suddenly bent down, crackled open a wide smile, and asked, "Arthur, if you had to choose, would you prefer to be bound to the Caucasus Mountains, rolling stones up the hill, plunging into the sea, imprisoned in Hell, or holding up that damned sky with your head and shoulders?"

Arthur poured himself a cup of tea, "I wouldn’t choose any of those options. If I really had to choose, I’d rather lie on the ground and let the sky fall to crush us all together."

The Red Devil did not press further but instead patted his shoulder heartily, "My dear Arthur, you’d better be as grand as you say."

Arthur didn’t react to the Red Devil’s words; as an old friend, he had grown tired of unraveling such riddles.

He simply calmly sipped his tea, listening to the low conversation between Mrs. Shelley and Ada.

At some point, he had gradually become accustomed to such a life, like a shadow, clearly there, but seemingly not there at the same time.

Although the protagonists in the oil paintings each had a saga worth singing, Arthur did not like living in the limelight like they did.

We are a bunch of rats in the gutter. What’s the gutter? It’s a place that cannot see the light.

—— "Greater London Police Department Police Intelligence Department Internal Training Manual," Chapter One, Section One.