Siles was taken aback for a moment.
Dorothea said, “I know the club you were previously responsible for is currently at a standstill due to the situation with the Dwight family. The department may end up reassigning you to another club internally.
“In that case, why not become the faculty advisor for our club instead? We can’t just keep enduring this passively.”
Siles felt a touched warmth at his students’ fierce loyalty. He couldn’t help a slight smile and said, “Thank you, Dorothea. I would be very glad to serve as your club’s advisor.”
Dorothea smiled in return, carrying that distinct, prideful edge typical of a young noblewoman. “It’s time those old men learned what the real world actually looks like! Coincidentally, tomorrow is your club day. I’ll invite the members of your club to join our student organization as well.”
Siles nodded, raising no objection to the arrangement.
Dorothea shifted the conversation. “When I saw you attending Grandpa Denton’s funeral at the Central Cathedral the day before yesterday, I was utterly astonished.”
Grandpa Denton. Such an affectionate form of address implied that Dorothea’s relationship with Professor Calverley was far from ordinary.
Siles said, “I had interacted with Professor Calverley previously regarding some reference books. He was a very amiable book collector.”
“Indeed he was,” Dorothea said softly. “Perhaps you might have guessed it already, but my family shares a certain connection with Atkinya, the God of Music and Art. My grandfather is a renowned art collector in the city.
“Because of that, my family shared a deep friendship with Grandpa Denton. In fact, my grandfather has spent his entire life surrounded by these things—music, art, literature… He and his circle of friends are all like that.
“When I was little, I couldn’t understand it. Back then, I always thought it was merely pretentious posturing by people with too much money… As you can probably tell, I’ve been rebellious and self-centered since childhood, especially for someone raised in a noble household.
“Once, when Grandpa Denton came to visit our home, I brought this up with him. He told me that it was simply… the meaning of life.
“If a person merely drifts through existence in a muddle, aging until they become mediocre and indifferent before dying, then everything appears utterly worthless. Human beings need something to validate and discover their own worth.
“…And that something might very well be art. The things people perceive as ‘beauty.'”
Reaching this point, Dorothea paused. After a brief silence, she added softly, “Death is truly a cruel thing. The very person who told me those words, who spoke of the need to search for the meaning of life… has already lost his own.”
As she spoke, her voice carried a strangely harsh and lost tone.
It was evident that Professor Calverley’s death was a profound blow to the young girl. She came from a noble background and her elder was a famous art collector, yet she had ultimately chosen the path of literature.
Perhaps the distinction between the two fields was not so vast; or perhaps it was precisely Professor Calverley, the book collector, who had ultimately guided her onto this path. Anything was possible.
Siles understood why she was bringing this up at a time like this.
He deliberated for a moment before speaking gently. “Yet, Dorothea, birth, old age, sickness, and death are topics we must inevitably face. They are things no one can escape.”
Dorothea stared at Siles, her eyes filled with confusion.
“And we record them using every means at our disposal,” Siles continued in a low, steady voice. “You spoke of the things we spend our entire lives pursuing—literature, art, music… You might feel that before we ever truly find them, we have already lost our lives.”
Dorothea was quiet for a moment, then slowly nodded.
“However, those things themselves also record our lives. Through them, our existence achieves immortality and transcendence.” Siles paused briefly. “I once visited Professor Calverley’s underground book collection room, and I listened to him enthusiastically share the story behind the ex-libris bookplate on every single volume’s flyleaf.
“Every book, every bookplate, every spark of joy brought by collecting and reading—that was what he sought to obtain, and those were the marks left behind by his recorded life.
“Our pursuit of life’s value isn’t about finding a single rigid rule that measures everyone. It is about the ‘pursuit’ itself. The act of pursuing is the value.”
Dorothea froze for a long time. At last, she let out a gentle sigh, her eyes brightening once more. “I understand, Professor.”
Siles looked at her warmly.
Dorothea pondered a bit longer before adding, “You once told us that deities were also once the subjects recorded by humanity. One day, humans will die, and deities will fall. Death is merely the starting point of another path.”
Siles observed his young student with a touch of surprise. This was the very first time he had heard such words spoken by a human of this era.
Then, Dorothea offered a slightly helpless expression and said, “I can say this to you, but I wouldn’t dare say it to my grandfather. He’s a stubborn old fellow.”
Siles smiled faintly.
“When you have time, you’re welcome to visit my home as a guest. Though it might have to wait a while—my grandfather hasn’t been in the best of health lately.” Dorothea couldn’t help sighing.
Siles felt a slight stir in his heart and said, “I recall… did your grandfather consume some… items at the banquet on the eve of the Divine Birth Festival?”
Dorothea nodded, then added, “I’m not sure how much of an impact those things had on his health. Perhaps it’s just this dreadful weather getting to him. Professor, you should take care of your health as well.”
“I will,” Siles said.
Dorothea quickly took her leave and exited the office.
Siles remained seated, reflecting for a moment. He stood up and headed to Professor Bright’s office first, only to discover with regret that his former mentor was not in. Left with no choice, he went to consult the administration faculty member for the Department of Literature and History, Professor Atley.
“Good afternoon, Professor Atley.”
Professor Atley was indeed in his office processing archived files. He looked up at Siles, his stern, rigid face showing no particular emotion. “Good afternoon, Professor Noel. Is there something you need?”
“My two apprentices are currently unable to continue serving as my teaching assistants,” Siles said, slightly glossing over the full reality. “I wanted to ask whether the position of teaching assistant must be filled by someone from within the university?”
“Not necessarily.” Atley’s answer matched Siles’s expectations. “So long as you can personally guarantee that the individual’s identity poses no harm.”
Siles nodded and requested a teaching assistant application form, intending to ask for Chendo’s thoughts later. Having Chendo serve as his assistant was merely an idea; he was unsure if Chendo would even be willing to do it.
By the time these matters were settled, it was already twelve o’clock. Siles belatedly realized how famished he was, so he hurried to the cafeteria for lunch. Outside the castle, the biting wind cut to the bone; Siles felt his foggy brain clear up slightly from the chill.
When his public elective course ended that afternoon, Siles stood in the empty classroom and let out a long breath. Lowering his eyes, he was slowly tidying up his lesson plans and reference materials when he suddenly heard a rhythmic knock at the door.
He reflexively looked over, surprised. “Chendo…?”
Chendo, standing at the doorway, was about to speak when he abruptly stopped upon hearing Siles’s slightly raspy voice. He knit his brows and stepped inside. “You have a cold.”
Siles remained silent for a moment.
Chendo walked up to his side, leaning down to press his forehead against Siles’s. After a brief pause, he said, “Fortunately, no fever. Professor Noel, can you not take proper care of yourself?”
“…I can,” Siles said softly.
“You certainly don’t look like someone taking good care of himself,” Chendo countered. He let out a quiet sigh, leaned in to wrap Siles in a tight embrace, and muttered against him, “Sometimes I feel my affection for you boiling over, yet I don’t know how to show it properly.
“…I just want you to take care of your health.”
“I will,” Siles said gently. “Don’t worry.”
By the time class wrapped up, evening had settled in. The two went out to eat together. Chendo critically scrutinized Siles’s attire before finally remarking, “You should wear more layers. A scarf, heavy coat, gloves, a hat… you ought to put all of them on.”
Knowing he was in the wrong, Siles merely nodded in agreement.
Chendo added, “You need to use the stove, too.”
Siles kept nodding, deciding to follow the local customs of this world and set aside his… reservations as someone from Earth.
Together, they went out to purchase a few household supplies and shared a meal. Chendo personally tied the scarf securely around Siles’s neck, gazing at his face illuminated by the lamps against the winter night. Finally, he said, “I suppose I should consider myself fortunate that when I met you, you were still single.”
Siles looked at him in utter bewilderment.
Chendo couldn’t help breaking into a smile, smugly remarking, “My taste is truly magnificent. Yours as well, of course.”
“…Narcissist,” Siles teased in a low voice.
“My love for myself doesn’t equate to even a thousandth of my love for you,” Chendo said. “Even so, I would rather you take better care of yourself. Don’t fall sick again.”
Siles was momentarily rendered speechlessly, unsure whether he should respond to Chendo’s declaration or his admonition.
Chendo took hold of his slightly chilly fingers and said, “Let’s go. Back to Hayward Street. I know you still have to keep working on your paper tonight.”
“Time is tight,” Siles sighed.
“Being a university professor is truly an annoying job.”
“Indeed.” Reminded of the trouble Professor Mantel had brought him, Siles mentioned the teaching assistant position to Chendo.
They walked slowly back along Hayward Street.
“Oh, that sounds wonderful. I’d be more than happy to be your teaching assistant,” Chendo said warmly. “That means I can participate even deeper in your daily life.”
Siles couldn’t help a soft smile. He was occasionally deeply touched by Chendo’s earnest effort. Soft, fluffy little emotions clawed at his heart, scrambling to find a thread of tenderness and affection.
Though, in truth, those feelings were already thoroughly wrapped in Siles’s own gentle warmth.
At last, Siles said, “Congratulations, Assistant Chendo.”
The stove in this otherworldly realm was far more exquisite than Siles had imagined. It did rely on open flame heating, meaning it had to be extinguished before sleeping, and the windows had to be cracked open periodically for ventilation.
Even so, the gradual rise in temperature inside the room made Siles feel immensely more comfortable.
Thanks to his move to Lowell Street, Chendo found a perfectly righteous excuse to linger at Siles’s place until nearly nine o’clock before taking his leave.
Chendo argued plausible-sounding reasons: “You can hardly claim you have a curfew here, can you?”
Siles found the remark amusing. Yet, at the same time, it reminded him of the strange nocturnal urban legend regarding the West Ward that he had heard earlier. Coincidentally, having finished organizing his thesis material, he decided to tell Chendo the story.
“Underground gangs in the West Ward?” Chendo said thoughtfully. “The very ones we encountered on the train…?”
“Yes,” Siles confirmed.
Chendo remarked, “To collect Time Traces on such a massive scale, I fear they intend to pull off something major.” He glanced out the window at the dark night, shifting his tone. “It seems Lamifa City isn’t particularly peaceful either.”
“The previous Greyson incident was already proof enough of that,” Siles sighed.
“I can look into this matter. However… stop talking for now. It hurts my heart just hearing your raspy voice,” Chendo said abruptly. “Drink your medicine quickly and go to sleep.”
Siles was taken aback, ultimately yielding to Chendo’s insistence.
Before leaving, Chendo extinguished the stove fire, handed over the necklace bearing the amulet of Ligadia, and insisted Siles put it on.
“You can’t find a reason to refuse this time,” Chendo said. “I’ve already removed it, so the ritual is temporarily inactive for me. You can simply treat it as a plain piece of jewelry.”
“…Thank you.”
Siles knew full well that despite Chendo calling it a simple ornament, its actual significance was far beyond any mere trinket. It was a heritage artifact of the Praia family.
“No need for thanks,” Chendo said in an exceedingly soft tone. “May you have a 【Safe Journey】—or at the very least, refrain from falling sick again.”
After Chendo departed, Siles reminded himself to find an opportunity to select a suitable gift for Chendo in return. Washing up quickly, he sank into a deep, restful sleep.
When he woke up the next morning, Siles felt significantly better, unsure whether to attribute it to the medicine or the warm sleep.
His throat remained somewhat hoarse, however. Obediently wrapping himself up warmly, he headed out. On his way, he ran into Lorenzo, who was stepping out in a hurry, and greeted his housemate.
Lorenzo paused in his tracks and sighed, “Professor Noel! Good morning. I’ve suddenly lost my desire to be a university professor.”
Siles froze, asking, “What happened?”
“It’s just too exhausting,” Lorenzo complained. “Aside from teaching, there are countless administrative chores. If possible, I’d rather spend my whole life as a teaching assistant. I hope Professor Dunlop returns soon; I can hardly take it anymore.”
Siles let out a soft laugh and said, “That will likely have to wait until next year.”
Lorenzo let out a long sigh. “I wonder how the archaeological expedition over there is progressing.”
His words stirred a subtle ripple in Siles’s mind. Thinking of the ongoing expedition in the Ashless Lands, he fell into brief contemplation.
The noble tombs of the Age of Shadows…
He hoped the excavation of those ruins would proceed smoothly, allowing him to gain a deeper, more detailed understanding of the history surrounding the Age of Shadows.
Bidding farewell to Lorenzo, Siles ate breakfast and first delivered Chendo’s teaching assistant application form to Professor Atley before conducting his morning specialized elective class. Once the session concluded, he finally managed to catch Professor Bright.
“Good afternoon, Professor,” Siles said. “I was just looking for you.”
He encountered Professor Bright right outside a second-floor classroom, the latter having just wrapped up a lecture as well. The stocky Professor Bright remained as full of vigor as ever, turning to tease Siles instead. “Good afternoon, Siles. Your voice doesn’t sound particularly healthy.”
Siles realized with a sense of helplessness that his cold had become a topic of endless ribbing among everyone he met. He explained, “Just a bit of a cold, Professor. I’ve already taken medicine.”
Professor Bright nodded in understanding before asking, “What were you looking for me for?”
They went to the cafeteria together for lunch, during which Siles gradually explained the situation regarding Professor Mantel. As Professor Bright listened, his anger flared. “That damned old fossil!”
Siles was startled, caught between laughter and tears as he tried to appease his former mentor, whose fiery temper hadn’t waned with age.
Professor Bright’s mood was visibly ruined by the news. He glared at Siles, asking discontentedly, “Why aren’t you angry?”
Siles thought it over and answered with complete honesty, “It doesn’t seem to have much of an impact on me.”
“It might not affect you now, but before long, that damned old man will push his luck even further,” Professor Bright huffed.
Siles asked, “I still don’t quite understand, Professor. Why exactly is Professor Mantel doing this? Merely because I write novels?”
“No, of course not,” Professor Bright snorted, utterly annoyed. “It’s because the old man wanted to push his own nephew into the department, but Dean Hearst refused and showed greater appreciation for you instead. Right now, the old man is simply using you to vent his frustration.”
Only then did the realization fully dawn on Siles.
Professor Bright suddenly let out a cold laugh. “He still thinks this is his era. But times have changed. Once an old man gets old, he should hurry up and step aside.” He paused, then added, “That is precisely what I believe. Siles, everything ought to be handed over to the younger generation.”
Hearing such a topic out of nowhere, Siles was caught off guard and froze for a moment. “Professor, you are still young…”
“No, I am old,” Professor Bright shook his head. “You must have heard about Calverley’s matter, right? He was about my age, just a few years older than me.
“A few years ago, he was still so full of spirit, even enthusiastically collecting a huge number of books. Yet this year, illness struck him down like a collapsing mountain, and he was crushed by death in an instant. That might very well be my future.”
He spoke with a tinge of melancholy.
After a moment’s pause, he abruptly added, “Before I die, Siles, I will pave the road for you. My wife passed away long ago, and I have no descendants. You are my apprentice, and you are my child.”
Siles felt almost at a loss, looking at Professor Bright, hesitant to speak.
“Don’t carry such a heavy emotional burden,” Professor Bright said. “Death has never been a rare occurrence. I prefer speaking about these things openly.”
Siles hesitated briefly before finally saying, “I understand your thoughts. Thank you, Professor.”
“It’s good that you understand,” Professor Bright said. “As for Mantel… that damned old fellow might not even have many days left to live himself!”
His phrasing made Siles feel amused despite himself.
Now that he understood Professor Mantel’s true motives, Siles felt even calmer about the whole affair.
Professor Bright specifically asked about the progress of Siles’s paper, and Siles candidly detailed his findings, mentioning that “the wandering poets were believers of Ligadia.”
Professor Bright was startled. “You found concrete proof?”
Siles nodded with absolute certainty.
Both eyewitness and physical evidence are present, he thought to himself.
…He felt he had just told himself a dry joke.
Professor Bright let out an exclamation of awe, then burst out laughing. “Siles, I was somewhat worried for you initially… but now, I think once your paper is published, that fellow Mantel might very well have to apologize to you in person!”
Siles was taken aback and asked modestly, “Is this discovery truly that significant?”
“Compared to its literary significance, historians will be even more thrilled and excited. Of course, that alone is more than enough.” Professor Bright looked Siles up and down. “I’m starting to suspect you chose the wrong major back then.”
Siles looked at his mentor, caught between amusement and speechlessness.
Cracking a joke, Professor Bright laughed heartily. “What I mean is, Siles, congratulations. You are already the youngest professor, and this paper will make you the youngest distinguished professor!”
Siles rubbed his nose in slight embarrassment.
After finishing lunch and discussing the paper and Professor Mantel, Siles bade farewell to Professor Bright and made his way to the classroom designated for the club activity.
The students inside the classroom had already arrived in full. Siles heard them chatting animatedly, mostly about what they had done over the winter break. Siles listened in with great interest.
Some students had taken advantage of the break to travel or relax, with a few even visiting other countries. Kellogg had returned to Kansas during the break.
Siles shared his own experiences in the Ashless Lands, heavily glossed over, of course. Even so, it was more than enough to draw exclamations of awe from the students.
They were all eager to try, expressing a desire to explore the Ashless Lands themselves, though Siles sternly warned them about the dangers present there.
Afterward, Dorothea and Jules brought up the topic of the club. Jules took the opportunity to apologize to Siles in private, his tone somewhat low as he admitted that he was, in the end, a cowardly person.
Siles told him not to take it to heart. Instead, he spoke of his own observations in Maltz, adding that he believed Jules was already an exceptionally young and talented scholar.
“Don’t let this incident affect your studies,” Siles said gently. “I am still your mentor.”
Jules stared blankly at Siles before nervously biting his lip. With a deeply formal attitude, he apologized to Siles once more, followed by a sincere word of thanks.
“…You are a wonderful professor,” he whispered. “A truly, wonderful professor.”
The other students present were unaware of the underlying details, but they enthusiastically agreed to join Dorothea and Jules’s club. Dorothea served as the president, while Jules took on the role of vice president.
Dorothea remarked, “Perhaps we should think of a name for this club.”
Angela Clayton glanced at Siles, then suggested, “I was thinking of the Professor’s novel, The Revenge of the Rose. How about calling it the Rose Literature Society?”
The male students all wore exceedingly subtle expressions.
A young student named Dorothea Lucas, who majored in Era of Fog literature, spoke up: “Just ‘Rose’ sounds a bit plain. Why not add another character?”
Jules pondered for a moment before suggesting, “How about ‘Guisha’ (瑰夏)?”
The others blinked, asking, “How did you come up with that name?”
Jules explained, “Because the Professor’s novel seemed to have been written during the summer; and this cold winter makes me desperately wish to return to summer. Besides, it’s a very precious variety of coffee… er, at least the name sounds nice.”
He spoke softly, carrying an air of ‘even though he hadn’t drunk it, he remembered the word.’
Dorothea nodded thoughtfully, adding, “By the way, those characters homophonically suggest ‘beneath the rose’ (瑰下). Under the rose—the allusion refers to keeping a secret. Conversations held under the rose must remain strictly confidential.”
…Her remark prompted Siles to glance at her.
Angela asked in surprise, “It carries that meaning as well?”
“Yes,” Dorothea nodded. “It’s an uncommon expression.”
Angela grew quite excited. “That carries a touch of mystery.”
Miss Angela Clayton always possessed a fondness for such mysterious elements.
Dorothea smiled knowingly and asked, “In that case, shall we go with the name ‘Guisha’?”
The others nodded in agreement, finding the name quite fitting. Siles ultimately gave a slow nod as well, signaling his approval.
Though in his heart, a thread of doubt lingered.
Roses, secrets. These motifs and concepts appeared around him with such frequency that they triggered an instinctive vigilance and unease.
He was uncertain whether to consider it mere coincidence or deliberate manipulation behind the scenes. Yet, who could truly accomplish such a feat?
…Fate?
It was a possibility that left Siles feeling somewhere between amused and helpless.
With the club name settled, Siles brought up the upcoming activity options. Believing it necessary to involve the students more actively, he gathered their thoughts on future events.
Some students preferred a tea party format, where everyone sat together to share insights on a pre-researched topic; others favored lively group outings.
“Perhaps we could organize outdoor activities?” a student from the School of Medicine suggested eagerly.
“Exactly!” a student from the School of Theology chimed in. “We could visit historical sites and learn about the stories behind them.”
Everyone readily agreed to the idea.
Siles gathered their feedback while keeping track of the time. Around four o’clock, he announced the conclusion of the session, noting that the next club meeting would take the form of a tea party centered around the topic “The Mysterious Age of Shadows.”
…In truth, Siles himself needed to research information regarding the deities of the Age of Shadows. Choosing this theme was partly a reminder to himself not to delay the matter any longer.
The students bade him farewell one after another.
Before leaving, Angela suddenly remarked, “Professor, someone is waiting for you at the door.”
Siles paused, a thought crossing his mind. Looking up, he saw Chendo standing there as expected.
Angela whispered softly, “Is that the one you mentioned before…?”
“Yes, my lover,” Siles acknowledged.
During their gathering last Saturday, he had already shared his story with Chendo to Angela and the others. His friends were all immensely curious about Chendo.
In truth, not many people knew about his relationship with Chendo—only his close friends, teachers, or acquaintances. Siles let them learn of Chendo’s presence naturally, and they kindly offered their blessings for their relationship.
Angela gasped softly in admiration, then blinked at him playfully. “Then I won’t disturb the two of you. See you tomorrow, Professor.”
“See you tomorrow,” Siles replied.
Yet he realized with slight surprise that Angela seemed to be hinting at something. Normally, given her personality, she wouldn’t casually blurt out a reminder about meeting tomorrow—was she planning to say something during their meeting at 18 Houseville Street tomorrow?
Siles couldn’t help feeling a wave of curiosity.
Chendo walked up to Siles’s side and asked, “Is it time to enjoy the weekend?”
Siles replied, “A busy weekend.”
The History Society, 18 Houseville Street, the Dawn Revelation Society, the novelists’ gathering… He should consider himself fortunate that the long, cold winter seemed to have forced the followers of the Old Gods into hibernation as well.
Siles stood up, shifting the subject. “Let’s go. I need to drop by Hayward Street first before heading out for dinner.”
Chendo grasped his hand, saying, “Once I become your teaching assistant, I’ll be able to stay by your side at all times. I truly look forward to that.”
“That’s for next week,” Siles reminded him. “Once the university approves your application.”
Chendo scoffed softly, offering a mocking comment: “Tiresome administrative bureaucracy.”
Siles actually agreed with his sentiment, though he offered a mild defense for the administrative process: “They can hardly allow people of unknown origin to wander into the university.”
“Do I count as someone of unknown origin, Professor Noel?”
“Of course not,” Siles said in a low, deep voice. “You are my lover.”
“That is a most satisfying answer,” Chendo said, thoroughly pleased.
…Siles felt that in some respects, Chendo was indeed quite straightforward and easy to understand. At least in front of him.
They returned to Hayward Street to put away their things before going out for dinner. Thanks to Chendo’s presence, they dined at restaurants outside the university more frequently, turning their meals into something resembling proper dates.
The prices, of course, were slightly less forgiving. Fortunately, Siles’s novel The Revenge of the Rose continued to provide him with a steady stream of income.
“Perhaps by next spring, we’ll be able to purchase a house in Lamifa City,” Siles remarked.
“I am delighted that you used the word ‘we,'” Chendo said with immense gentleness, adding, “Spring flowers blooming. That will be a wonderful day.”
Siles turned his head to gaze at the heavy darkness outside the window. Even inside the warm room, he could envision the freezing northern wind howling outside. How far off was spring? How far off was vitality?
After a brief silence, he said, “Yes, Chendo. It will be a wonderful day.”
On Saturday, November 14th, light snow began to fall over Lamifa City once again.
At eight in the morning, Siles arrived at the History Society. He went to see Ms. Aston first, who then guided him to a secret room.
“Room 33 is associated with research projects on out-of-control Time Traces and sealed artifacts,” Ms. Aston explained with her characteristic efficient demeanor, despite her transition to Head of Research. “I have arranged a dedicated room for you there.
“Please keep in mind, Professor Noel, that any research involving sealed artifacts must strictly be conducted within this room. Your assistant, Annairin, is already waiting for you inside.”
Siles nodded. “I understand.”
Ms. Aston added, “I have prepared two peculiar sealed artifacts for you. One has been proven harmless through prior research by the History Society—it’s the standard artifact every researcher handles when first starting out.
“The other is a rather unusual piece selected from a recent batch of discovered sealed artifacts. I hope you will examine the second one carefully after finishing your study of the first.”
Siles nodded, asking out of curiosity, “A recently discovered batch of sealed artifacts?”
Ms. Aston glanced at him sideways, hesitated briefly, and finally said, “They were obtained from Clarence… or more precisely, from the Torture Study Society sponsored by the Dwight family.”
Siles understood immediately.
Ms. Aston likely felt that since they had reached this point, she might as well clarify the details fully.
She continued, “In fact, the Church of the Past originally wanted to claim this batch of sealed artifacts for research. However, due to Clarence’s involvement, the History Society took possession of them directly instead.
“A portion of them consists of rather… ancient sealed artifacts. Though you likely won’t have access to those just yet.”
“It is indeed proper for me to begin my research with the harmless ones,” Siles agreed understandingly.
Ms. Aston nodded in approval.
Arriving at Room 33, they first greeted the other researchers present. It was clear that the other Revelators were quite curious about Siles. Gathered here were several Revelators Siles had never seen before, including a few with rather odd expressions.
Ms. Aston later explained to him, “They have been immersed in research for so long that it has become difficult for them to interact normally with people.”
Siles couldn’t help letting out a quiet sigh at that.
They reached Room 557. Annairin was standing there alone in a daze, staring at something on the table. He snapped back to his senses abruptly when Siles and Ms. Aston entered.
“Good morning, Ms. Aston, Professor Noel,” he greeted them hurriedly.
“Good morning,” Siles said.
“Good morning, Annairin,” Ms. Aston replied. “Have you looked at the two sealed artifacts already?”
“Yes,” Annairin said with a hint of nervousness. “They are somewhat… strange.”
Siles’s gaze had already shifted toward the table. He had taken his potion before leaving home and was currently wearing the [Eyeglass Frame of Akamara]. Many knew he suffered from nearsightedness, so wearing glasses drew no suspicion.
On the table lay a feather and a nail.
The white feather looked as though it had just been plucked from a bird, still radiating a sense of vibrant vitality. Siles could even feel its fine down fluff trembling softly in the air.
Under the vision granted by the [Eyeglass Frame of Akamara], Siles observed a peculiar eerie blue mist swirling around the feather, carrying a profoundly mysterious and unusual aura.
…Does this feather share a connection with Lusmi? Siles wondered.
The nail was even stranger. From time to time, it would spin on the spot, as if held in the middle by an invisible hand and spun around. The pointed tip of the nail was stained with layers of dried blood, presenting a gruesome appearance; yet its head was polished smooth and shiny.
It almost forced one to imagine the scene of its sharp tip driving into human flesh. Recalling the likely origin of this nail, Siles felt an even colder emotion settle over him—the Torture Study Society, wasn’t it?
A gray mist swirled around the nail in a similar fashion. Gray, rust, and blood-red—these three colors seemed frozen in the air, accompanied by the friction sound of the nail constantly spinning, conveying an almost bone-chilling sensation.
At the very least, Annairin found it difficult to stomach. He instinctively wrapped his arms around himself in a defensive posture.
Siles and Ms. Aston maintained their composure.
Ms. Aston introduced the two sealed artifacts to Siles. As expected, the former was the “harmless sealed artifact,” while the latter came from the Torture Study Society.
“What are their effects?” Siles asked.
“The feather makes one’s body light,” Ms. Aston said. “It seems capable of allowing a person to run faster.”
Siles was slightly taken aback, instinctively thinking of the birdmen’s feathers. A birdman’s feather… turned into a sealed artifact?
“As for that nail…” Ms. Aston hesitated before stating, “Our current research indicates that it only causes intense pain—merely touching the skin is enough to inflict excruciating agony.”
“…Self-torment,” Siles murmured softly.
Ms. Aston couldn’t help sighing. “It aligns closely with the style of the Torture Study Society, doesn’t it?”
Annairin looked visibly uncomfortable, his face pale as he excused himself to visit the washroom.
Once only Siles and Ms. Aston remained in the room, Siles no longer concealed his curiosity and asked, “Ms. Aston, do you know the Council of Elders’ reaction regarding Clarence and the Greyson incident?”
He had heard about it from Angela, but he still wanted to know how Ms. Aston, as the Head of Research, viewed the matter.
Ms. Aston hesitated briefly before replying in a subtle, businesslike tone, “They consider it deeply shameful.”
Following that, she lapsed into silence.
The two exchanged a look, after which Siles narrowed his eyes and said slowly, “I see… Nothing more.”
Ms. Aston nodded.
Indeed, nothing more. The Council of Elders deemed Clarence’s actions shameful, but offered no further stance. They would issue no punishment, express no public condemnation, and enact no changes to the History Society’s current internal practices.
This fell within Siles’s expectations. Even so, he couldn’t help feeling deeply lamentful over the History Society’s deeply entrenched, hard-to-reform state.
Even as the younger generation gradually made their stances clear, and despite vocal opposition from the outside and calls for reform from within, it was blatantly clear that radical changes would not occur in the short term.
…Unless an opportunity presented itself.
These thoughts flickered briefly through Siles’s mind. He did not pursue them further, choosing instead to shift the topic. “Regarding the research on sealed artifacts, Ms. Aston, is there anything you need to warn me about?”
Ms. Aston thought for a moment before offering a meaningful piece of advice: “Do not speak to it.”
