Siles’s matter stirred a wave of righteous indignation among his companions. Angela was especially outspoken, saying, “I’ll go look into it and see whether this elder has any hidden secrets.”
Siles was grateful for their support, but still asked them not to act rashly. After all, the other party was a powerful, senior Enlightener, so they would need to understand his background before trying to deal with him.
That naturally earned everyone’s agreement.
The topic then shifted to something else. Eric suddenly said, “I got some news.”
“What is it?”
Eric hesitated for a moment, then said in a low voice, “It’s not good news, exactly. In short… the Second Corridor intends to unseal the Darrow family files and materials. I mean, the Darrow family’s collection items.”
Brewer Darrow. At the mention of that name, they all paused.
Mrs. Fuller sighed and said, “Yes. Nearly three months have already passed.”
Brewer had run into trouble in early August, and now it was already mid-October.
At that, Siles said, “If those materials are going to be unsealed, is there any chance we could obtain them?” He paused, then told his friends the information he had previously learned from mystery novelist Maynard Davis.
Maynard had joined a detective club, and one of the club’s detectives had once investigated the Darrow family massacre.
During the investigation, one detective learned that someone nearby had heard a woman’s scream coming from the house where the incident occurred.
Another detective, while searching the area, found a long wig in a trash can. Later in the investigation, a servant from a nearby household confessed that he had once picked up an enameled cup engraved with marigolds from the trash.
Because he wanted a bargain, the servant took the cup home. Now that marigold cup was being kept by that detective.
After hearing Siles out, Eric thoughtfully nodded. “Perhaps we can find something about the goblet in the Darrow family files.”
“Marigolds…” Angela thought for a moment. “My friend—the one I just mentioned, Millicent Austin—is rather introverted and likes flowers and plants. Maybe I can ask her whether marigolds have any special meaning.”
Darrell said, “Flowers again. That seems like the second time we’ve run into flowers, doesn’t it? What was it before… that bronze crocus?”
“Oh, that was the museum gatekeeper’s case,” Angela also remembered. “I know crocus symbolizes fertility and the god of life, Pesonari. But marigolds… don’t seem to symbolize any god.”
“Maybe it’s just a coincidence?” Mrs. Fuller said. “My family also buys enameled cups engraved with flowers.”
The others agreed with that explanation as well.
After thinking it over, Siles brought up Nona’s matter. He only said that he had learned Nona had been imprisoned by an underground gang and was now possibly trying to escape, though he did not know whether she had succeeded.
Darrell said in shock, “Professor, you know way too much, don’t you?!”
“Just coincidence,” Siles replied.
Eric followed up by saying, “I’ve been keeping an eye on the underground gangs, but I haven’t found anything. They still seem to be in the same state as before.
“Also, during this period, the number of complaint letters about inexplicable figures appearing in the West City hasn’t decreased at all. It seems the underground gangs still have plans.”
“Because of the day of Divine Birth celebration?” Angela guessed, then said, “How awful. A development plan like this, and yet it leaves people with no peace.”
Darrell, sounding troubled, asked, “Is this what the adult world is like?”
“When you were at school, didn’t you ever fight other kids over snacks and toys?” Angela asked. “Growing up just means fighting over more expensive, more serious things.”
Darrell looked at Angela with stunned disbelief.
The others all laughed at the childish, slightly immature comparison.
That topic came to an end, and Siles turned to Mrs. Fuller, asking carefully, “Do you know of any suitable gift for a mother? During winter break I want to go to the Ashless Land and won’t be able to go home to keep my mother company, so I’d like to send her a gift.”
Mrs. Fuller thought for a moment. “Perhaps I’d prefer something practical?”
Angela said, “I think a scarf would be a good choice. The cold winter is coming.”
Siles nodded thoughtfully, then thanked her.
It was about time, so they said their farewells. The others all reminded Siles to be careful on his upcoming journey and looked forward to hearing his stories about the Ashless Land.
Mrs. Fuller said that when she was young, she had also been to the Ashless Land. It was a place with chaos and madness at its core.
“However,” Mrs. Fuller added, “a long time has passed, and anything will gradually become more orderly. More and more rules are needed to regulate things.”
“That’s true,” Siles said.
After leaving 18 Housewell Street, Siles thought carefully and finally decided to go to the Historical Society anyway. There was no need for him to give up meeting the members of the Dawn Revelation Society just because Clarence Dwight was targeting him.
Besides, it was already too late to back out now.
He might as well ask them at this point whether being discovered would cause any problems… though personally, he thought it probably wouldn’t be a major issue.
Not long after, he received a similar answer in the room of the Dawn Revelation Society.
“Nothing much,” the noblewoman said. “It’s of course best not to be discovered, but if it happens, so be it. In any case, we are not truly members of the Dawn Revelation Society… at least we know we’re not.”
After their confrontation with the croupier last week, their attitude had become even gentler and more relaxed.
The newspaper boy also shrugged and said, “Yes, I agree.”
By comparison, the knight was less casual, but he only said, “Don’t worry too much. Matters of the Enlighteners belong to the Enlighteners; matters of the secular world belong to the secular world.”
Hearing this, the croupier finally relaxed.
The knight clearly understood the croupier’s concern very well—he was worried that Clarence Dwight might directly target his identity as a Lamifa University professor.
Still, it seemed that the supernatural and the secular worlds were quite clearly separated.
If it had been anyone else, the croupier might have had to worry whether they would act recklessly and overstep their bounds. But Clarence was not a problem; he believed in Brancani, and that god’s followers were all about self-restraint and self-punishment.
From Clarence’s repeated investigations of him, and his use of his position as an elder to propose freezing the croupier’s project at the council meeting, it was obvious that Clarence was a very rule-abiding person.
…And at this moment, that turned out to be an advantage.
Still, Clarence Dwight truly was that sort of rule-abiding man. But the croupier had not forgotten that when he had first proposed his “three elements of divinity” project, someone had broken into his office.
Although he had immediately claimed that his manuscript had been stolen, causing the Historical Society to take office security seriously and giving a fairly effective counterstrike, he still did not know who the幕后黑手 was.
Clarence?
But Clarence did not seem like someone who would do such a thing.
…In other words, there were at least two senior figures in the Historical Society who were hostile to him.
The croupier narrowed his eyes slightly, quietly resting his chin on his hand as he thought in silence.
After the croupier’s topic ended, the noblewoman once again mentioned the expedition she had previously brought up: “We’re planning to organize ten people, and there are still two spots left. Surely none of you want to go?”
The knight and the newspaper boy both shook their heads.
The croupier, however, became curious and asked, “I’m a little interested in the Ashless Land. But what kind of expedition is this?”
“Oh, croupier, are you interested in my expedition team?” the noblewoman asked.
The croupier nodded.
So the noblewoman said, “Then let me explain it properly. My expedition team is actually organized by the Lamifa Chamber of Commerce, and I’m one of its initiators.
“We jointly invited a few Enlighteners, explorers, and some other necessary members to join us. Our plan is to spend one to two months in the Ashless Land searching for clues related to the ‘Non-existent City.’
“If we find something, great. If not, then we’ll just treat it as a failed investment.”
The noblewoman shrugged.
The croupier understood. He thought that one or two months meant he probably would not be able to join her expedition team. If possible, he still preferred to travel with a more formal group.
So he said, “I’m afraid I don’t have the time. But… the Chamber of Commerce? This is the first time I’ve heard of a chamber of commerce in Lamifa City.”
“It’s just an organization formed by some major merchants to make more money,” the noblewoman said rather dismissively. “If you ask me, it’s basically the same as the Dawn Revelation Society.
“Some merchants can join, but only as outside members like us, unable to even get into their official meetings. As for others, if they can find the right way in and learn the true purpose of the chamber, then they can join its internal secret organization.”
Secret organization. That phrase suddenly caught the croupier’s attention.
So he chose his words carefully and asked, “Do you mean… this chamber of commerce was also founded by Enlighteners?”
“Ha,” the newspaper boy suddenly snorted. “You can say it more directly, croupier. It’s just a bunch of old-god followers, except they believe in Menavaka, so they seem less aggressive.”
The noblewoman did not deny it either. “Many merchants are followers of Menavaka, especially women merchants. You should know—we’re all loyal followers of Mrs. Deblis.”
Mrs. Deblis.
At that moment, the croupier was struck with great surprise. He had never expected to hear Mrs. Deblis’s name at this gathering.
The newspaper boy and the knight seemed not to know who Mrs. Deblis was, so the knight asked curiously, “Mrs. Deblis? Who is that? A famous woman merchant?”
“Mrs. Deblis was a woman merchant from the Silent Era,” the noblewoman said with a nod. “She became famous—in my world of merchants, I mean, where she was highly esteemed—because she had extraordinary talent in business.
“In the end, she became Menavaka’s proxy—the god’s messenger! Isn’t that incredible? It is said that establishing a chamber of commerce in a city and having merchants cooperate to earn greater profits was something Mrs. Deblis herself set as an example.
“So in some merchants’ minds, one side of the scale is Menavaka, and the other side is Mrs. Deblis.”
The newspaper boy gave the noblewoman a strange look and asked, “Wait, you merchants actually put a human being and the god you believe in on equal footing?”
“What’s wrong with that?” the noblewoman laughed, brushing back her hair. “Making money is the most important thing in our line of work. Can that god help me make money? Then of course I’ll worship Him. But if not, then He’s just a god.
“Faith is only a kind of psychological comfort. For me, and for many other merchants.”
The newspaper boy listened, then remarked, “That’s awfully utilitarian.”
The knight could not help saying, “So in reality, you aren’t worshipping a god, but money. Can I put it that way?”
The noblewoman thought about it carefully. “When I was young, that was indeed true. Even now, I can’t really say I worship a god. But I also don’t care that much about money anymore—after all, I’ve already earned enough.”
The newspaper boy stared at her and then said, “Hmph. Even with all that money, you still can’t win over your stepdaughter.”
The noblewoman: “…”
She rolled her eyes at him.
The croupier thought that Angela did indeed have troubles lately, but the noblewoman probably couldn’t solve them.
More interesting than that, however, was another piece of information the noblewoman had just revealed.
The croupier asked, “Madam, I’d like to know: is the credential for joining that chamber’s secret organization an accessory with a scale motif?”
The noblewoman looked at him in surprise. “Yes. Not just any scale—it has to be a scale with one side tipped down. They say it symbolizes that anything placed on the scale is less valuable than Menavaka’s worth and glory.
“…You have this accessory?”
Her tone carried a trace of hesitation.
“I’ve seen other people wearing it,” the croupier said.
The noblewoman then said, “Then they’re probably not internal members of the chamber. They wouldn’t wear such accessories on their person; that could expose their identity and faith.”
The croupier was slightly surprised by this—so the Grayson Food Company manager, the one named Billy who wore a scale brooch, was actually not a follower of Menavaka?
Only then did the croupier realize that he had been too constrained by the word “merchant.” That might just be their profession, not their faith. Not all merchants worship Menavaka.
As the noblewoman had said, in fact even many who claimed to be followers of Menavaka were not truly pious. They merely worshipped money, not the “god” they talked about.
He could not help sinking into thought.
Meanwhile, the noblewoman, the newspaper boy, and the knight had already started talking about merchants as a profession. They each had their own views and ideas, and listening in, the croupier faintly glimpsed some of this world’s operating rules.
Because of the fog blocking the Ashless Land, merchants were, in a sense, respected by the people of this world. But as the fog receded, people’s attitude toward merchants became somewhat ambiguous.
The croupier thought that this world was undergoing ceaseless change. Everything was in the making.
He thought about it a little, but did not seriously join their conversation, so as not to cause any trouble. Fortunately, his silence was already something they were used to.
Around four in the afternoon, the noblewoman and the newspaper boy left one after another. Then the knight removed his helmet and asked, “Have you encountered trouble?”
Siles said, “More or less.”
He paused, then explained the matter of Clarence Dwight.
Carol listened, then nodded. “Don’t worry too much. He’s a rigid old man and won’t bother you in real life. Of course, in the Historical Society…”
“I understand,” Siles said in a low voice. “I plan to go to the Ashless Land during winter break.”
Carol paused, then said, “That’s also a good choice… to leave for a while.” He paused again. “If you want to resolve this matter, or deal with that old man, then you should raise your power as an Enlightener as soon as possible.
“Otherwise, you can raise your standing in the secular world and then deal with the Dwight family. Those are both good options. You’re still very young, Professor Noel.”
Siles smiled faintly. “I understand that very well.”
Carol observed his expression, then nodded, said goodbye, and left wearing his armor.
And the one who always left the room last, Siles, sat quietly there, thoughtfully considering that in this era, the outlook of the young and the old already seemed quite different.
The older generation was conservative, stubborn, and rigid, trying to return to an ancient and distant past; while the younger generation had already renewed its ideas and was energetically embracing the future.
This was an era of rapid development, one that was brewing enormous change.
But in the end… behind the thick fog of this world, what exactly was hidden?
He did not care all that much about Clarence’s targeting him, but he was indeed curious: to what extent did old-god followers like Clarence Dwight align their beliefs, ideas, and positions with the spirit and future direction of this era?
They might eventually be swallowed by the tide of history.
…Before that happened, Siles hoped he would have the chance to retaliate by reasonable means.
Thinking of this, Siles could not help but smile a little.
He stood up and left the salon space.
It was Saturday afternoon. As always at this time of week, he would go to the Fenn family for dinner, and this day was no exception.
However, on his way out, he was stopped in the first floor hall of the Historical Society by someone calling out to him.
The voice came breathlessly, as though the speaker had made quite an effort to catch up with Siles’s pace. Siles turned and saw someone hurrying down the stairs. Looking more closely, he recognized the copyist Bart Evans, who had once taken part in his experiment.
At this moment, the middle-aged man’s condition looked much better than when he had first participated in Siles’s experiment.
He came up to Siles and said, “Professor Noel! What a coincidence running into you here. I wonder if you have time?”
Siles paused, then said, “Of course. What is it?”
“Please come with me,” Bart said after catching his breath.
Siles thought for a moment, then followed him.
Bart led Siles to a room on the first floor. He said, “I’m a copyist for the Historical Society. Although I have to handle some matters for the Enlighteners side, most of the time I’m doing work for the Historical Society.
“So I have a dedicated writing room. I’m taking you there now. I have something I want to give you.
“…Professor Noel, I heard about what happened to you. Please don’t act rashly. I’m furious about what you’ve gone through, and I’m sure quite a few people in the Society feel the same way. The person targeting you will get what’s coming to him.
“The reason I stopped you this time is that over these past few days, I privately had other copyists try your method, and it really works, Professor Noel. You are truly a genius.
“In any case, even though that project has now been handed to someone else, we all still remember your kindness and goodwill. So a few of us got together and wanted to give you a gift.”
At this point, Bart paused. Seeing that Siles was about to refuse without even thinking, he quickly added, “Please don’t refuse! You know, in this Society, no one ever notices us copyists.
“To them, we’re just disposable tools to be used and thrown away.”
Bart’s eyes revealed a kind of helpless resignation. He seemed to have accepted that, but…
“But,” Bart said, “you helped us. You may not know how many copyists have become neither human nor ghost. Your method helped us, at least letting us live like normal people. That’s already enough for us to be grateful.”
Siles wanted to say something, but in the end he could only sigh inwardly and say, “But this is what I should do.”
He did not ask who Bart meant by “them.”
Bart said, “There has never been any should or shouldn’t. Helping someone may be kindness, but people are not ‘supposed’ to do it.”
As he spoke, he stopped before a small door. This was the deepest part of the corridor, dark and dim, with no light reaching it, and even the air felt stale and heavy. Siles could smell a familiar scent of ink and paper.
There were quite a few similar small doors around.
Bart said softly, “This is my writing room.”
He pushed the door open and walked in. Inside was a small room of about ten square meters, with a tiny side window that made the light slightly dim. Books and papers were piled on the desk and in the cabinet, and a small chair was placed behind the writing desk.
Bart walked behind the desk, took a manuscript out of a drawer, and handed it to Siles.
“What is this?” Siles asked, slightly puzzled.
He could tell that this seemed to be a private copy Bart had made, but at first glance he could not tell what the material was actually about… It looked like a collection of fragmented sentences?
Bart said, “Professor, when you first tested my level of spiritual pollution, it had already reached half. But in fact, I usually handled ordinary secular texts for the Historical Society.
“The reason my pollution level suddenly rose so much was because…”
A trace of fear appeared in his eyes. He looked toward the manuscript copied onto the white paper.
“It was because of this manuscript.”
Siles looked at it in surprise.
Bart was also an Enlightener, though perhaps not an especially strong one—in other words, as Miss Aston would put it, his soul strength probably was not very high.
But an Enlightener, polluted by a manuscript, to that extent?
Bart continued, “After your treatment, and after hearing about your situation, I thought carefully about what I might be able to do for you. In the end, I realized that perhaps the only thing I could offer was this manuscript.
“I don’t know its author or where it came from. Some important people above handed it to me and told me to copy it, never considering whether a copyist might descend into madness because of a manuscript.
“When you treated me, I was in the middle of copying this document… which is exactly why I’m especially grateful to you. You saved me at that very special moment.
“So I privately copied an extra version, which is the one in your hands. In fact, if not for your treatment plan, I probably wouldn’t have been able to finish copying it at all.
“During the copying process, I used your method to treat myself more than once. That was truly miraculous power. You also contributed quite a bit to the appearance of this copy, so I hope you won’t feel any burden and will accept this document with peace of mind…
“You know, as copyists, we always come into contact with all kinds of things.”
Bart smiled.
For a moment, this middle-aged man seemed to shed the image he had once shown in Siles’s office—the timid, fearful figure. That deep smile seemed frozen on his tired, shadowed face.
Siles looked at him for a long time, then said, “I’m very grateful to you, Bart.”
Bart’s smile became genuinely warm and friendly. “And I am too,” he said softly. “I’m very grateful to you, Professor Noel.”
After a moment, he said, “You shouldn’t stay here too long. If you ever need anything in the future, or need something copied, I and my colleagues would be very happy to help.”
Siles nodded, said goodbye, put the manuscript into his bag, and left.
He was curious: what exactly was this copy—the thing Bart had to repeatedly use the ritual of Reenacting the Self in order to finish copying? And where had it originally come from?
He did not let his emotions linger, quickly cleared his mind, and went on to the Fenn family.
At dinner that evening, he told the Fenn family that he intended to travel to the Ashless Land during winter break.
Bertram looked slightly surprised. “I didn’t expect you to go now. If I’d heard about this earlier, I might have organized a caravan and taken you there myself.
“Going to the Ashless Land alone for an expedition is probably not a good choice.”
Siles humbly accepted his advice—he knew that on matters related to the Ashless Land, Bertram would definitely have much more experience and would be far more seasoned than he was. So he asked, “What do you think I should do?”
Bertram thought for a moment. “First, if you can find a caravan, then it’s best to travel with one. That’s a good option, since a caravan’s route is absolutely safe.
“If that doesn’t work, you can try joining an expedition team when you transfer trains in a border city. Those explorers are mostly experienced. But be careful: as a newcomer like you, you may well be abandoned if danger comes.
“Also, if there’s really no way around it, then you’d better find suitable companions to travel with. For example, a doctor, so you won’t be injured in the Ashless Land and have nowhere to get treatment.
“In general, reliable companions are necessary. Those who can move around the Ashless Land alone are either madmen or absolute powerhouses.”
Bertram sighed like that.
Siles nodded thoughtfully.
Caravan, expedition team, doctor.
These were his three options.
As for a caravan… maybe he could ask the merchant Lanmere? In the original campaign plot, one of the apostate’s choices was to sneak into Lanmere’s caravan and head for the Ashless Land.
The apostate’s other option was the Lamifa University archaeological team. And now, the archaeological team would be departing tomorrow. As for Lanmere’s caravan, maybe it was leaving around this time too?
That was Siles’s guess.
As for the border-city expedition team, perhaps he could observe the train station in Martz after he arrived there. He would just have to wait until then.
The last option, a doctor—he only knew one doctor: Chester Fitzroy. Chester had previously made it clear that he never again wished to go to the Ashless Land. That option had to be regretfully abandoned.
…So the first choice was Lanmere’s caravan; the second was the expedition team in Martz.
Siles quickly sorted this out in his mind and felt his prospects brighten somewhat.
He noticed certain keywords in Bertram’s words, so he asked, “Would some powerful explorers choose to travel alone?”
Nearby, Mrs. Fenn and Anthony also pricked up their ears, listening curiously.
Bertram nodded. “Yes, of course. Explorers all want to monopolize their own gains. Choosing to act together with others is for safety; but if they can guarantee their own safety, then there’s no need to travel with others, unless they’re close family.”
Siles understood, then asked, “Do you know any famous explorers?”
As he spoke, he noticed Mrs. Fenn and Anthony’s expressions, his gaze settling slightly before turning back to Bertram.
Bertram paused, then subconsciously looked at his wife and son. They were listening attentively, and when Bertram stopped, Anthony even urged him on. “Dad, keep going.”
Bertram could not help but freeze for a moment.
After a bit, he finally understood, cleared his throat, and then, in a more deliberate, story-telling tone, said seriously, “There have been quite a few explorers who rose to fame in recent years, and there are also some older explorers who have remained renowned for many years.
“One from the Duchy of Konst is a man who has maintained a loud reputation for nearly twenty years. His name is Augustus Dunbar. Dunbar’s trademark is the bloodstained broadsword he carries on his back.
“It’s said to be the cleaver used by the executioner of Lamifa City for many years. It has a long history, and Dunbar himself is very strong, so many people are already terrified when the execution blade is just being drawn.
“That’s why Dunbar’s nickname is ‘the Executioner.’ He has a good reputation in the Ashless Land and does not bully the weak; on the contrary, sometimes he even punishes evil. That likely has something to do with the weapon he uses…”
Siles nodded thoughtfully.
He thought that perhaps this was also because the previous owner of the time relic had influenced the Enlightener’s mental state. The execution blade had clearly slaughtered countless evil people, and Dunbar’s behavior seemed to be developing in that same direction.
Anthony let out an awed “Wow,” and Mrs. Fenn also looked moved and surprised. Bertram, as if encouraged, smiled at them.
He continued, “In recent years, there has also been a foreign explorer who made an extraordinary name for himself in the Ashless Land. Of course, compared with Dunbar’s reputation… it’s more complicated.”
Anthony eagerly asked, “Was he a bad person?”
“No, not really,” Bertram said, shaking his head. “Most of these explorers are not… murderers. Their notoriety comes from their powerful strength and mad nature, but as for being bloodthirsty or how many people they’ve killed, that’s not really the case.
“…At least most explorers are not like that. They may be obsessed with wealth, obsessed with exploration, and have triggered all kinds of disputes and chaos… Of course, that’s enough to establish their fierce reputation.
“In any case, the explorer I’m referring to is named Chento Playa, from the Duchy of Kanss… that’s how people say it, though he himself doesn’t seem to have actually introduced himself that way.
“His temper… seems very… arrogant, and aloof. He has formidable strength; people say his close-quarters combat is unique, and others say he’s also highly skilled with long-range archery. Still others say he possesses some very strange, inexplicable abilities.
“Many explorers have been rescued by him in dire situations, or have benefited from him in some way, but he seems aloof and condescending, looking down on those explorers. He even plainly says that saving them was just a trivial act and that no return favor is necessary.
“Because of this temperament, some equally arrogant explorers dislike him very much and sometimes even try to hunt him down deliberately. But Chento Playa has never let them succeed.
“It seems that no one is close to him, no one knows his temperament or habits, and no one knows why he appears in the Ashless Land, or what he has found there over the years…”
An explorer who goes alone, with great strength and a strange temperament.
Such an image emerged in Siles’s mind.
He could not help thinking: is this the map’s author?
To be honest, after hearing Bertram’s description, he became even more convinced that the explorer had been deceived. How could Chento Playa possibly have drawn a map by hand?
Anthony said in amazement, “How interesting! There’s such an explorer! He sounds like a character from a novel!”
Mrs. Fenn said in a gentle tone, “Little Anthony, if you like, tomorrow we can buy some adventure novels. How about that?”
Anthony cheered and nodded repeatedly.
Both Bertram and Siles could not help smiling.
After dinner, Siles said goodbye to the Fenn family.
Bertram saw him to the door and then said, “I didn’t want to say this with Irene and Anthony there… In any case, you need to be careful. The Ashless Land, especially Glaston, is not a safe or peaceful place.”
Siles nodded and said quietly, “I understand.”
Bertram asked again, “Where do you plan to go?”
“Hell’s House,” Siles said.
Bertram thought for a moment, then realized. “So it’s that relay station. Listen, that place… is a bit strange. I’ve heard that many explorers go there with great enthusiasm, but in the end never come back.”
“…As expected,” Siles muttered.
He had already realized there was a problem with Hell’s House, but even Bertram, a merchant who did not often go to Glaston, had heard of its strangeness. That made it even more suspicious.
Bertram did not catch Siles’s words and asked, “What?”
Siles shook his head and only said, “I discovered something.”
“What is it?”
“You could tell Mrs. Fenn and Anthony about your experiences in the Ashless Land. They’re very curious,” Siles said. “That would help your family harmony.”
Bertram was stunned for a moment, then gave a wry smile. “That’s true. Siles, if you hadn’t given me that look today, I probably never would have noticed they were so curious about my experiences out there.”
“Of course they’d be curious,” Siles said with a sigh, then said goodbye to him.
“Goodbye, Siles,” Bertram said. “Wishing you a smooth journey.”
“I hope so,” Siles replied.
He left the neighborhood where the Fenn family lived, glanced at his pocket watch under the weak streetlamp, and saw that it was already nearly seven. The air around him was cold, and through the dimness he could see moisture floating in the air.
He felt as though cold droplets were seeping into the cracks of his bones.
Siles quickened his pace and took a hired carriage back to 6 Hayward Street. He happened to run into his roommate Lorenzo, who was returning at the same time.
Lorenzo greeted him while yawning: “Good evening. Dear roommate, I didn’t expect you to be back so late too.”
“I was visiting a friend. What about you? Professor Dunlop again?”
“Professor Dunlop was packing things to use for tomorrow’s departure,” Lorenzo said. “He asked me to help. Honestly, I’ve known Professor Dunlop for so many years, and he’s never shown such seriousness about an archaeological expedition.”
Siles was somewhat surprised, but said, “That’s a burial chamber belonging to a Shadow Era noble, so it’s very rare, isn’t it?”
“Indeed,” Lorenzo agreed, then muttered, “No matter what… well, I just hope Professor Dunlop leaves and returns safely.”
He waved at Siles and went back up to his room on the second floor.
Siles also went to the third floor, then quickly took a hot bath in the washroom. The weather was getting colder and colder, and even while bathing he felt a bit chilled—heat, oh heat, why doesn’t this world have central heating!
The frustrated Earthling wrapped himself in thick sleepwear.
After bathing, it was eight o’clock. Siles sat at his desk and wrote a letter to the merchant Lanmere, asking whether any caravans were heading to the Ashless Land lately.
In the letter, he explained that he wanted to travel during winter break, so he hoped to go with a caravan for a safer journey.
After finishing it, he set the letter aside, thought for a moment, and took out the manuscript Bart the copyist had given him earlier. He read it carefully.
He sensed the wonder of this world’s copied manuscripts.
Although Bart had been severely polluted during the copying process, Siles did not feel that way while reading the manuscript. On the contrary, he could think very calmly and rationally.
He wondered if, according to what Grenfield had once said, copyists were like… a filter? Copyists filtered the pollution out of the original work, leaving only the pure text for readers to enjoy.
But in that case, if the copyist had no proper method to remove the pollution, then copyists really were like disposable tools, one after another.
Because Bart had repeatedly used the Ritual of Reenacting the Self while copying, he had managed to finish the manuscript, and so this copy now carried no pollution at all—this was a special case.
The manuscript Siles had once received from the painter Leon had also been a copy, but it carried extremely strong pollution, from which Siles only escaped by relying on dice rolls.
Siles could not help sighing inwardly.
He could feel Bart’s sincere gratitude and reverence, but precisely because of that, Siles felt more pressure and a touch of self-mockery. He had only stumbled upon the method of “Reenacting the Self.”
And that merely treated the symptoms, not the root cause.
After thinking for a while, he shook his head, pushed aside the unpleasant thoughts, and instead immersed himself in the strange atmosphere of secrets created by text and ink.
Bart’s copy consisted of ten sheets of paper. Each sheet was filled with text that at first glance looked like nonsense. Lines ran all over the place, and there were even some incomprehensible drawings.
It was obvious that Bart had done his best to keep everything neat and clear during the copying process, but no matter what, the words on the manuscript still looked odd.
That oddness permeated the chaotic layout, the sloppy formatting, and the childish content.
Yes, childish.
To Siles, the manuscript read like a fairy tale.
“The lamb walked on the grass.
“Grass wrapped around the lamb’s feet.
“The lamb baa’d and fell to the ground.
“(turn page)
“The soil opened its mouth and swallowed the lamb.
“The lamb’s eyes looked up at the sky.
“A bright meteor streaked across the sky.
“(turn page)
“The star fell into the sea.
“The seawater surged and slapped the shore.
“The fish leaped onto the beach.
“Sun-dried into dried fish, with no one to save them.
“(turn page)
“The fisherman picked up the fish carcass.
“He repeatedly praised how fresh the meat was.
“Gurgle gurgle, bubbles rose.
“Clink clank, wine bottles rang.
“(turn page)
“A child peered outside the window.
“It was useless to look, the fisherman said.
“The child’s saliva flowed all over the floor.
“So the fisherman said to bring money to buy it.
“(turn page)
“Meat and coins placed on the scale.
“The child happily took the meat away.
“The fisherman smiled and counted his coins.
“(turn page)
“After the fish was eaten, hunger returned.
“The child went home and counted the lambs.
“One, two, three, four—one is missing!
“(turn page)
“The child ran toward the painting board.
“Oh no, the child cried.
“The lamb in the painting has actually been eaten.
“Lamb, lamb, don’t run away.
“Someone outside will eat the lamb.
“(turn page)
“The child tore off the old drawing paper.
“It doesn’t matter if the lamb is dead.
“The child drew a new lamb.
“One, two, three, four, five—correct!
“The lamb baa’d restlessly.
“The child howled in hunger.
“(turn page)
“Just eat it, no one will blame you.
“Even if they do, it’s useless, no one will care.
“The child became obsessed with counting lambs.
“The fisherman personally dried the fish.
“With a howl he swallowed it all down.
“It tastes good—eat more!”
Siles’s finger stopped on the final exclamation mark.
The die rolled.
[Spirituality +1. Knowledge 5.]
