Aneurin Moore stood beside Siles, his face grave as he asked, “Professor, are you missing anything? Your manuscript…”
Last Saturday in the office, he had seen with his own eyes Siles writing something down in a draft notebook. However, he had left earlier than Siles and didn’t know that Siles had taken the draft notebook with him.
Siles’s eyes flickered, suddenly realizing something, and he said, “I need to check.”
He didn’t explicitly state at this time whether he had lost anything.
He truly hadn’t kept any important items in this office—no documents, notebooks, or manuscripts, nothing. It was just a place he used to settle in when visiting the Research Department; it wasn’t important.
However, this place—or rather, the doorknob of Room 390—theoretically only granted access to him alone. Even his assistant, Aneurin, couldn’t enter Room 390 without Siles being present.
So the question was: Who broke into his office? Who turned this room into such a chaotic mess—chairs and bookshelves knocked over, decorative books flipped open, even the windows thrown wide—who did this?
More importantly, if the intruder truly wanted to find materials related to Siles’s proposed research project and take them away, they shouldn’t have been this brazen.
Strutting in so openly, messing everything up—it was like they were giving Siles a show of force: “I know where your office is, and I can come and go as I please.”
This was a highly conspicuous, ostentatious act, entirely contradictory to the goal of learning about the progress of Siles’s project.
If they found it, fine; but if they didn’t, wasn’t this just alerting the snake by beating the grass, making Siles realize someone was secretly targeting him? He would be even less likely to leave important clues and materials in the office after this.
So… their true purpose wasn’t actually to find materials related to the project.
Furthermore, if this person could truly bypass the doorknob’s permissions to enter Room 390, their status within the History Society must be very high, and they must possess special information and authority.
Since that was the case, why bother coming to Room 390? Why not just target Director Bellow of the Research Department or Siles himself directly? Why make the room look like this?
…Ultimately, Siles thought, this is someone warning me.
Even if he didn’t realize it was a warning, he would still be terrified that his office had been broken into, which would slow down the progress of his research. From the mastermind’s perspective, until the culprit was found, Siles couldn’t possibly be in the mood to conduct proper research.
And if he did realize it was a warning, then he would similarly realize just how much authority and power the person who could silently break into his office possessed.
Did they break the doorknob’s ritual? Forcefully destroy it? Or were they a high-ranking member of the History Society with the ability to enter any room? Regardless, it seemed Siles had provoked an enemy he couldn’t fight against.
Aneurin had clearly realized this as well; his seriousness carried an irrepressible tension.
Siles stood at the door, looking at the chaotic scene inside the room, his gaze unreadable. After a moment, he said, “Where is Director Bellow?”
“He should be in his office now.”
Siles said, “Let’s go. We need to find him.”
He closed the door, not touching anything inside.
Aneurin asked somewhat nervously, “Professor, are you planning to…”
“What?” Siles tilted his head to look at him, his face calm.
“…abandon this project?”
Siles said with some surprise, “No, of course not.” He paused, then as if realizing what Aneurin was thinking, let out a faint chuckle. “You’ve got it wrong, Aneurin.”
Aneurin looked at him, slightly excited.
Siles said, “If the ultimate goal of this threat is to make me abandon the project, then of course I should go ask Director Bellow right now where those Revelators who volunteered for my experiment are, shouldn’t I?”
Aneurin nodded repeatedly. He thought for a long time, then finally said, “Professor, you are amazing.”
Siles laughed.
For him, having his office trashed had indeed affected his mood. However, he wasn’t an impulsive or reckless person. The point of conflict between him and his enemy was his research project.
And Siles had never been one to give up easily.
Completing his project and proving that human will could indeed resist the pollution of the gods—that would be the best counterattack against his enemy.
Of course, the matter of his office being trashed couldn’t just be let go.
Siles arrived outside Director Bellow’s office. Aneurin had seemed a bit excited the whole way. Siles patted his shoulder, telling him to leave first and instructing him not to tell anyone about the office for now, then knocked on the door himself.
A “Come in” sounded from within.
As he opened the door and walked in, a sigh slipped through Siles’s heart. He realized that the Research Department wasn’t exactly a quiet place either, considering the looks those Revelators had cast his way on the walk over.
However, Director Bellow should be on his side.
Siles entered. Director Bellow was sitting behind his desk, smiling at him: “Siles! You’re right on time. I was just about to bring those Revelators to your office.”
“Oh, you might want to wait a bit,” Siles said casually. “My office was broken into by a thief.”
“…A thief?” Director Bellow was momentary bewildered.
“The window was open; I suspect he climbed in,” Siles said. “Don’t you think the security of the History Society is worth reconsidering? Perhaps other rooms will also be invaded.”
Director Bellow looked at Siles in distress. After a moment, he asked, “Are you missing anything?”
“I lost a manuscript—a draft notebook,” Siles said without changing his expression. “I had written some thoughts and inspirations regarding the Three Elements of the Divine in it. I wrote it when I was in the office last Saturday and casually left it there.
“Now, that manuscript is gone. Although I can rewrite it from memory… it truly recorded many of my thoughts.”
When Siles said this, Director Bellow immediately realized the severity of the situation. He frowned and said, “Was it really a thief from the outside?”
“I don’t know,” Siles said darkly. “But I’ve heard that the doorknob of every room in the History Society is a ritual, and only those recorded by the doorknob can enter the room.”
Director Bellow fell silent instantly.
There must be something fishy going on here, Siles thought. Even if the doorknob truly recorded a ritual, it was impossible for the higher-ups of the History Society to let certain rooms in the building remain truly sealed off; that was an unspoken rule.
Just like certain anonymous communication websites on Earth. Users could indeed enter those anonymous secret rooms, and the website claimed only those users could enter. But did the website administrators truly lack the relevant access rights?
An organization couldn’t possibly allow its members and locations to harbor malicious secrets.
But this was also a private agreement that could never be made public. This was the leverage the other party had handed over on a silver platter.
Certain people had given Siles a show of force, so Siles would return the favor. The other party had exposed their sinister intention of abusing their power for personal gain, so Siles was going to make sure certain smart people within the Society understood this.
A thief from the outside? How could that be! The space behind the door was a completely independent special area, unconnected to the outside world. No one could climb through a window from the outside into the space behind the door, and ordinary people without Revelator aptitude were even less likely to enter.
Those with a discerning eye would understand that this was an internal struggle within the History Society.
Siles didn’t know exactly which higher-up within the Society was targeting him, but someone did. Using this method of abusing rules to deal with a Revelator within the Society… the other party’s prestige would be dismantled.
Even if they didn’t care—Siles guessed that whoever used such methods mostly likely didn’t care about such empty titles—then, could a fabricated manuscript related to the Three Elements of the Divine serve to divide and sow discord?
The other party hadn’t gotten it, but Siles claimed he had lost a manuscript. No one would suspect a victim of lying, so everyone would assume the other party did get it. They wouldn’t be able to clear their name no matter what they said.
Within the History Society, there was no shortage of higher-ups who had doubts about Siles’s project. Therefore, since Siles said this, the higher-up who actually made the move would definitely be demanded by others to produce that manuscript.
They say they didn’t get it? The others would definitely become suspicious; suspecting they were wavering, suspecting they had selfish motives, suspecting they had been convinced by the ideas in it.
Even if they reacted quickly, realizing Siles was framing them, and claimed they destroyed the manuscript in anger, their subordinates—Siles didn’t think they would stoop to doing this kind of thing personally—the person who actually did the deed, knew they hadn’t retrieved any manuscript.
Therefore, their subordinates would suspect this superior had sent out other teams.
A chain of suspicion from top to bottom. All it took was Siles asserting that he had lost a manuscript. And who knew if Siles had actually lost it or not? He truly did have a manuscript recording his thoughts; Aneurin knew clearly of its existence.
Furthermore, when Siles and Aneurin parted ways at the door of Bellow’s office, Aneurin also didn’t know if that manuscript was actually lost or not. Only Siles knew the whereabouts of that manuscript—right in his backpack.
“…You’re right.” Director Bellow looked at Siles and sighed, as if completely oblivious to Siles’s ulterior motives. “I will find the head of the Third Corridor. They will re-examine the internal security of the Society and help recover your manuscript.”
“Thank you, Director Bellow.” Siles didn’t say much else. “Please arrange a new office for me.”
Bellow nodded and said, “I’ll arrange it as soon as possible. You might have to wait…” He checked the time, “Half an hour.”
“Alright,” Siles said. “Then I’ll go take a walk around the Salon.”
The Salon was a place where many Revelators relaxed and hung out.
Bellow said, “Go ahead.”
Siles went straight to the Salon. He adjusted his image in the entrance hall, not entering as the Croupier, but changing into a completely unremarkable Postman.
He had seen many people use this image in the Salon before.
He couldn’t use the Croupier image at a time like this, which would connect Siles Noel to the Croupier—the timing was a bit too perfect, wasn’t it?
Siles walked into the Salon, and then the Croupier appeared. Such a sequence would definitely arouse some people’s suspicion. Therefore, he had to change his identity.
The Postman walked into the Salon carrying his mailbag, wandered around aimlessly, and then headed toward the stage. He lifted the curtain and walked in. Behind the curtain, only one path appeared.
He knew this was because he had only joined one faculty: the Dawn Revelation Society.
The Postman went to the Dawn Revelation Society’s room. It was completely empty, as the agreed-upon gathering time was Saturday afternoon.
He took his draft notebook out of his mailbag.
He carried two notebooks daily: a notebook and a draft notebook. The former recorded more important things, like reading notes and schedules, while the latter was for casual scribbling.
That notebook was usually left on his desk and wasn’t brought outside; the draft notebook was carried with him, and it was precisely the one Aneurin had seen him writing in last Saturday.
Draft notebooks were used up quickly—a casual scribble took up a page or two—so the draft notebook Siles currently had was only started last week and hadn’t recorded much. This was good news.
The Postman placed this draft notebook in the corner of the bookshelf, behind two heavy books. He looked at the perfectly hidden draft notebook, a slight smile forming on his lips—now, his manuscript was truly lost.
Soon, half an hour passed. The Postman left the Salon and returned to the Research Department.
His office was ready. Room 450.
Two people were standing in the office. Siles thought, These must be the Revelators who volunteered to participate in my experiment.
Bellow introduced the two to him, then left.
These two Revelators were a man and a woman, both around thirty years old, their expressions identically cold and haggard. The corners of their mouths would occasionally twitch, as if uncontrollably. Their gazes both carried a weary coldness.
“Good morning,” Siles greeted them.
The man, his name was Colin. The woman’s name was Doris. Neither of these names seemed like their real names, but Siles didn’t care about that.
Upon hearing Siles’s voice, Colin trembled slightly. He said, “Please… get straight to the point.”
Doris also nodded slowly.
“Then, please introduce yourselves.” Siles sat down on the sofa with them.
When the three of them were truly sitting face-to-face, Siles felt that this scene was actually very similar to a psychological counseling session on Earth. However, Siles also knew that simple psychological counseling probably couldn’t completely eradicate the pollution of the Old Gods.
“My name is… Colin Lane,” Colin said. “I am a Revelator from the Third Corridor.”
“I’m Doris Kelly,” Doris said. “I’m from the Second Corridor.”
Siles considered this for a moment. “So, Doris’s Old God pollution comes from investigations in the Second Corridor. What about you, Colin?”
It was easy to understand the Second Corridor encountering Old God pollution; after all, they had to deal with archives, ancient texts, various dangerous items, and even confront Old God followers directly.
But the Third Corridor was more geared towards combat, not research and investigation. In this context, the Third Corridor was more like enforcers.
Colin remained silent for a long time, finally saying, “What I suffer from is not… Old God pollution. But…” A hint of fear and malice seemed to flash in his eyes as he spoke slowly, “The pollution of the Blessed One whose power I constantly… borrow.”
Siles was slightly startled.
Colin’s voice was like a wandering spirit, every syllable incredibly weak. Because of this, his tone sounded as if he were recounting some unknown secret.
He said, “It’s like… I’ve become… another person. His thoughts, his concepts, his… his devotion to the god, I can feel it all. He is inches away from me.
“…No. His ghost wanders around me. I can hear his voice, I can feel his movements. It’s an invisible person, a shadow. He is right inside my shadow.”
Colin suddenly convulsed, his whole body as if collapsing, dripping with sweat.
He screamed, “I don’t want to become him!”
Siles observed the man cautiously and calmly. After a moment, he asked, “Who does he worship?”
Colin wore a struggling, despairing expression. Finally, he said, “Hoodoka.”
The God of Sin and Lies, the shadowy side of the world, Hoodoka.
Hoodoka was a highly controversial god. Or rather, no god and their followers had ever been as universally despised as Hoodoka and His.
He was, after all, the synonym for evil.
However, while people who overtly followed morality and the law scoffed at Hoodoka, the same was not true in private. Hoodoka was worshipped by criminals, people of lacking virtue, and those who loved to lie.
Almost everyone believed He protected crime and lies. Therefore, some people, after doing bad deeds, would secretly pray to Hoodoka for protection, as if Hoodoka would bear their guilt.
Supernatural power users protected by Hoodoka were called “Apostles of Evil and Sin.”
Their powers usually related to harm, darkness, and concealment, much like assassins in the night.
Sometimes, people attacked by Apostles of Evil and Sin wouldn’t even realize they had been injured. Because Hoodoka Himself embodied the meaning of lies, Apostles of Evil and Sin could deceive the injured, making them believe they hadn’t been hurt.
This deception could naturally be applied elsewhere.
It was rumored that some people would worship both Hoodoka and Menavaca. Deception and commerce, a match made in heaven.
Most of Hoodoka’s followers thought highly of themselves, believing they had a silver tongue and were resourceful and skilled in battle. To a certain extent, they were evil and cynical; their lies often carried a condescending perfunctoriness.
Perhaps that was because they believed their act of lying was protected by their god.
…Siles suddenly understood the meaning of Colin’s facial expression just now. Before uttering the divine name Hoodoka, he had looked extremely conflicted, as if he wanted to say a different name.
But ultimately, he chose to speak the truth.
This meant he had indeed been polluted, a part of him becoming a follower of Hoodoka, thus instinctively wanting to hide himself; but the other part of him still maintained a shred of sanity.
But… Siles thought, if he already showed a conflicted expression when speaking Hoodoka’s name, did that mean his dominant will had already leaned towards the follower of Hoodoka?
Siles thought for a moment, then said, “Who is hiding in your shadow?”
“Him!” Colin yelled loudly. “That damned…”
“Colin Lane?” Siles asked calmly.
Colin’s words came to an abrupt halt. His eyes went wide, and he asked incredulously, “How did you find out?! My lies can’t possibly be exposed!”
Siles said, “You hesitated in two places. First, when you said your name was Colin Lane; second, when you said your faith was Hoodoka.”
“Just because of that?”
“Just because of that,” Siles said. “There’s no harm in testing the waters once, is there?”
Colin wore an expression of fluctuating emotions.
Doris watched from the side, thoughtful, and inconspicuously moved a little further away from Colin.
Siles sighed softly: “There are probably quite a few Revelators like you in the Third Corridor, aren’t there? Using the rituals of a Blessed One from the same path long-term…”
He once again recalled Grenfield’s evaluation of [The Warrior’s Black Umbrella]. If the will of the entity whose power was being borrowed was too resolute, then perhaps the Revelator would conversely be influenced by them.
Siles thought back to some of his earlier thoughts.
He had once felt that the Revelators’ method of using power was incredibly bizarre, like… thieves. On the surface, all Revelators had a unified narrative, claiming they were “borrowing” the power of history.
But were the entities whose power they were borrowing truly willing to be borrowed from?
Like Bunyan, he knew Siles needed such power for protection, so he proactively offered his shield fragment. But kind-hearted people like Knight Commander Bunyan were ultimately the minority.
Directly borrowing someone else’s power without even a heads-up… could that really be considered “borrowing”?
Even though those past Blessed Ones were all dead, their spiritual will would invisibly influence the Revelator. This was like a latent act of revenge.
…But could that be considered resurrection? Siles’s thoughts suddenly veered in this direction.
Siles couldn’t judge the true nature of Revelator power, as it was an entire power system.
However, specifically regarding Old God pollution and Blessed One pollution, if this pollution completely overtook a Revelator’s brain, would it count as a kind of “resurrection”?
Was this the “container” those Old God followers sought?
Judging from Colin’s behavior, he had, to some extent, completely altered his way of thinking, his faith and concepts, and even his character and personality.
Such a thorough transformation made Siles deeply uneasy.
He had also experienced that half-mad sensation. But that state hadn’t lasted very long. He couldn’t help but wonder, if he hadn’t managed to shake off the Old God’s pollution, would he have been able to maintain his calmness and true self in such a prolonged state?
…This seemed like an unanswerable paradox.
If he could maintain his sanity, then he would have long since shaken off the Old God pollution; but if he couldn’t maintain his sanity and sense of self, then he would naturally be enveloped by the Old God’s pollution, forever unable to escape.
Siles couldn’t help but sigh.
In front of him, Colin seemed to have fallen into a trance.
The pollution of the Old Gods, the pollution of Revelators… what kind of power was that exactly? Siles watched him, pondering in his mind.
A spiritual power of will, stretching across countless years? For an Earthling accustomed to an objective, materialist world, he found it somewhat difficult to comprehend this subjective, idealistic concept.
…It feels more like something out of a novel, Siles thought.
He vaguely felt a subtle spark of inspiration. Novels—that was his old profession. And that inspiration…
He suddenly remembered what Grenfield had said not long ago. Transcripts could filter out that pollution. Why was that? Was it merely because of the act of transcription itself?
What if it wasn’t copied exactly? What if one added their own interpretations? What if… one turned it into a fictional… or at least, made others believe it was a fictional story?
It was just a spark of inspiration. Siles wanted to jot it down in his draft notebook, but abruptly realized he had left his draft notebook on the bookshelf in the Dawn Revelation Society.
He paused for a moment.
Across from him, Doris’s gaze quietly observed him. Noticing his expression, she asked, “Professor, are you looking for something?”
“…My draft notebook.” Siles looked up at Doris, paused slightly, and shook his head. “I usually keep it with me. It’s just…”
Doris’s eyes flickered. She said, “Perhaps you can write it somewhere else first.”
Siles nodded, not saying much more. He found a blank piece of paper in the drawer of the coffee table, scribbled a few words on it, then casually folded it and slipped it into his pocket.
This was his habit as a novelist. Any inspiration, any idea, had to be recorded for future reference.
During this time, Room 450 fell into a brief silence.
Then, Siles looked at Colin. Colin’s gaze was somewhat vacant, but also somewhat struggling, as if pondering something.
Siles considered for a moment, then asked, “Now you know he is hiding in your shadow.”
Colin’s gaze slowly focused, and he looked at Siles.
“Can you tell the difference between yourself and your shadow?”
Colin said somewhat vaguely, “I… I don’t know.”
Siles was somewhat curious about his state, so he asked, “Who do you think you are right now?”
“Colin Lane,” Colin said without hesitation.
“And your shadow?”
“And my shadow…” Colin was a bit hesitant. “He’s like… madly… chasing me from behind. He wants to reach my side, and surpass me.”
Siles nodded, asking in return, “Does this anxiety make you feel uncomfortable?”
“…Anxiety?” Colin didn’t seem to understand. “Do you think this emotion of mine is anxiety?”
“Because he is actually still on the path of chasing. He hasn’t reached your side yet, let alone surpassed you. But you already feel as if he is right next to you,” Siles said calmly. “Anyone can see your abnormality, which proves…”
Colin listened intently.
Siles said, “He is not you yet.”
Colin Lane froze abruptly.
In Siles’s view, since Colin possessed the concepts distinguishing the “self” and the “other,” he should be able to discern which part was himself and which part was the infected portion.
Of course, things weren’t that simple. “Realizing” it and “doing” it were worlds apart.
Furthermore, Siles also realized that this era was different from the Earth era he had known. In this era, the information people could access was far less abundant.
In a sense, Siles had been in Earth’s internet age, the era of information explosion. He had been exposed to diverse information in the internet environment, and in the process, gradually learned to maintain his own stance and true self…
The clash of stances, the debate of concepts, the contradiction of ideas, the mutual exclusivity of identities. Earthlings witnessed countless arguments and direct clashes of viewpoints on the internet every day, and that in turn reflected their own image.
He could know very clearly what kind of person he was.
This test of overwhelming information volume was unimaginable to humans in the Fisher world.
Siles was already accustomed to the feeling of having other people’s thoughts and concepts shoved in his face; and he was accustomed to—and had naturally learned—how to wash his face clean.
But the people of this world, the amount of things they could come into contact with all day was limited, yet they had to draw infinitely close to another individual during a ritual to ensure compatibility.
Under this subtle influence, people’s personalities would naturally undergo some subtle deflection.
Not to mention, this pollution from Old Gods and Blessed Ones was contained within a mysterious power. It was already difficult for Revelators to resist.
Siles’s gaze rested quietly on Colin.
He thought, This is like a split personality. Some lose their sense of self in a daze; others inexplicably grasp the trick while muddling through.
After a moment, Colin said slowly, “He is not me yet. He is not me.” He paused. “Is that what you mean?”
His gaze turned toward Siles, carrying an unconscious hope and plea.
Siles paused, about to speak, when suddenly, everything around him froze. The crisp sound of a rolling die echoed in his ear.
[Keeper, Colin Lane (Revelator) requires a Will check.]
Siles: “…”
For a moment, he felt a fluctuation of emotion.
He felt the die was interfering. His conversation with Colin was clearly progressing smoothly.
First, he pointed out Colin’s unconscious deviation in self-perception. Colin would subconsciously pause when speaking; he hadn’t noticed it himself, but Siles, as a bystander, could clearly perceive it.
Second, he pointed out Colin’s excessive emotional anxiety. The situation actually wasn’t that severe, but Colin was self-hypnotizing, believing it was dire. This, in turn, deepened his level of pollution.
Finally, he also made Colin realize that he actually always held the concept of the difference between “I” and “he.” This was a very good entry point.
Some Revelators suffered Old God pollution but were unaware of it. Half-mad—like Siles’s previous situation, he knew he was mad at the time, but simultaneously felt he wasn’t mad. That was an extreme, frenzied calmness.
Siles felt that state was actually more dangerous than Colin’s split personality situation.
Siles felt like a psychological counselor. He was just about to point his patient toward a broad, smooth road. And then… the die interjected, making all his previous efforts seem useless.
…Right. He could, of course, directly use the method of designating someone for a check to actively roll for Colin’s Will and see if he could shake off the pollution.
But as a Keeper without a script in hand, Siles didn’t really want to do such a thing, whether based on morals or otherwise.
However, he never expected that when Colin asked him that question, the die would be triggered. The die was like a robotic judge, automatically triggering a check when the corresponding conditions were met.
And, it was a check where Siles could control the die’s value.
…This is the fourth type of check.
The first three were forced, uncontrollable checks triggered by himself; forced, uncontrollable checks triggered by the RPG characters; and unforced, controllable checks he could initiate actively. Now, it was a forced, controllable check triggered by someone else.
Siles realized that every check seemed to be a turning point in fate.
The die appeared in the palm of his right hand. A regular dodecahedron, still its original appearance, but now faintly glowing with blue light.
Siles glanced at Colin Lane in front of him.
[Will: 39.]
This was Colin’s Will attribute.
Siles couldn’t see others’ attributes before, but in this current state, he could. He had a vague premonition that this was highly likely related to him being in the Ritual Time.
Because he had to come to the History Society’s Research Department today, Siles had consumed a potion before leaving the house in the morning, just in case.
Ritual Time combined with a controllable check—these two factors allowed him to directly see the corresponding attribute value of the person needing the check. If he wasn’t in Ritual Time, he probably wouldn’t be able to see it.
In Ritual Time, he could clearly see more information.
Colin was obviously a powerful Revelator; the rituals and different Time Traces he had encountered were far more abundant than Siles’s. Therefore, Siles didn’t have many options before him now.
A total of three options: 37, 45, 83.
There was only one borderline option that would allow this check to succeed.
Siles considered it, and ultimately chose to throw the die, rolling a 37. Does this count as me secretly helping Colin cheat? he thought.
[Will: 39/37, Success.]
[This is a lucky fellow. The hidden hand of fate gave him a gentle push. However, remember, nothing happens out of thin air. Ultimately, he has understood what is going on with his shadow.]
Siles paused slightly, noticing certain details in the die’s wording this time.
“The hidden hand of fate”, “nothing happens out of thin air.”
The die’s check didn’t appear out of thin air; it needed to meet the corresponding trigger conditions.
In other words, if it weren’t for the previous conversation between Siles and Colin, if Colin hadn’t realized the difference between “I” and “he” and come to understand it, Colin couldn’t have triggered this check.
This brought Siles a slight sigh of relief.
This also meant that relying on the die wasn’t the only way for a Revelator to shake off pollution. After his conversation with Siles, Colin clearly understood his own situation. In that state, he would inevitably recover slowly.
It was just that the die’s check was more rapid and thorough. Like standing at the crossroads of fate, someone gave a gentle push from behind. That could be a push towards the right path, or the wrong one. But regardless, it was a thrust that altered fate.
Furthermore, this might also be related to the fact that Colin’s pollution came from a Blessed One. He wasn’t polluted by the will of an Old God, but by the will of a Blessed One, which made the situation much simpler.
Purely from a mystical perspective, Siles naturally believed that the power of gods far exceeded that of humans.
After the check took effect, the previously stagnant scene around Siles abruptly shifted into motion. Siles heard himself say: “Of course. He is not you, he wasn’t in the past, he isn’t now, and he won’t be in the future.”
He saw Colin’s gaze suddenly become lively. A greyish-black substance seemed to suddenly dissipate from his head. The next second, it was as if he had been washed clean of dust, looking vibrant and energetic.
Colin subconsciously sat up straighter, looking intently at Siles, then nodded, speaking slowly and sincerely: “You are right. That is just my shadow.”
To the side, Doris’s pupils revealed an expression of shock.
Siles observed Colin’s appearance, not noticing Doris’s expression. After a moment, Siles said, “I should place a [Shadow of the Old Gods] Time Trace here to test your level of pollution.
“However, I think you should be able to perceive it yourself.”
Colin smiled and said, “Professor, I feel much better.”
Judging from his tone and demeanor, he did indeed seem much better. Of course, this kind of… “treatment” couldn’t be said to have completely eradicated his pollution. But his level of pollution had clearly decreased.
…Through just one conversation, Doris thought.
This was truly unbelievable.
Siles nodded at Colin, then turned to Doris and asked, “What about you?”
“…This is miraculous.” Doris didn’t hide her shocked, dazed emotions, her tone somewhat dry. “Professor, please… please forgive me, this is miraculous.”
Siles understood.
Doris’s current state didn’t seem suitable for conversation. Moreover…
So Siles said, “Then, when you are ready, you can come find me. Perhaps next Saturday?”
Doris nodded earnestly and said softly, “Thank you for your generosity.” She hesitated, then added, “I think… you are someone worthy of trust.”
Hearing something in her tone, Siles stared at Doris for a moment, then smiled faintly and said, “Thank you for your trust, Doris.”
Doris looked relieved.
Colin had gleaned something from their conversation. He seemed unconditionally on Siles’s side, so he looked at Doris with an expression mingling vigilance and suspicion.
But in the end, Doris left first without saying anything more.
Colin was a bit confused. He looked at Siles and asked, “Professor, what’s wrong with her?”
“Perhaps someone asked her to come see the results of my experiment,” Siles said. “Perhaps someone asked her to investigate me. Regardless, she has been convinced by your performance.”
Therefore, Doris, who also suffered from Old God pollution, now needed Siles’s help.
Colin suddenly understood. He couldn’t help but say, “Professor, you are a scholar. I think, if you ever need any protection…” Colin patted his chest. “You can trust me.”
Siles paused, then said, “Then I’ll rely on you, Colin.”
“It’s what I ought to do,” Colin said.
After Colin left, Siles sat alone in the office, recalling everything that had just happened.
A moment later, Aneurin Moore walked in. He said, “Professor, that’s incredible! That Colin… the way he looked…”
Siles said, “You ran into him?”
“Every Revelator in the Research Department saw him! When he returns to the Third Corridor, he will definitely draw even more attention,” Aneurin said. “You will be sought after and flattered by many people, I believe.”
Siles didn’t particularly care about this. Colin achieved such obvious results because he truly understood the situation and triggered the die’s check.
If it were someone else, the results might not be so good.
However, Colin’s performance had clearly inadvertently spread Siles’s reputation. This… Siles thought for a moment and felt it wasn’t a bad thing, so he let it be.
Siles changed the subject, “About my manuscript…”
“I heard, Professor,” Aneurin said regretfully. “That’s such a pity. If only you could completely rewrite it from memory, at least the loss wouldn’t be so great.”
“Perhaps I can.” Siles didn’t say explicitly; he just said, “I’m not in the History Society all day, so please help me keep an eye on this matter.”
“No problem,” Aneurin readily agreed.
Siles checked the time and said, “I’ll be leaving first. I need to go out and buy a notebook, then try to rewrite the contents of the manuscript.”
Aneurin looked completely unsuspecting, nodding repeatedly. “Go quickly then.”
