“To the left.”
In the guest bedroom on the first floor of 32 Lowell Street, Chendo and Siles stood side by side. The room originally had no bed, making it empty and spacious—perfect for combat practice.
Of course, calling it “practice” was one thing, but Siles felt he first needed to get accustomed to this kind of combat.
The combat method Chendo taught him wasn’t complicated; rather, he had tailored a combat strategy specifically for Siles. Utilizing Akamara’s Eyeglass Frame, Siles could execute excellent ranged attacks.
“And that’s a bit safer for you,” Chendo said. “It also sets my mind at ease.”
Chendo had even prepared a Time Trace for Siles in advance. According to him, it had arrived with the batch of Praia family archives and was a piece from the Praia family’s collection. Because this Time Trace hadn’t arrived earlier, he hadn’t pressured Siles to practice combat. But now, of course, he had to push his beloved Professor Noel.
He knew Siles possessed two decent defensive Time Traces, but lacked any for offense. Paired with Akamara’s Eyeglass Frame, the Time Trace he had brought for Siles could produce highly unexpected results.
The Time Trace was a fountain pen, which could also be used for regular writing.
“However, perhaps due to a flaw in craftsmanship, the nib of this pen would constantly fall off,” Chendo shrugged. “Later, an ancestor of the Praia family modified it into… a sharp weapon that could shoot the nib out like an arrow. With prolonged use, this pen gradually became viable for combat as a Time Trace. The primary attacking component is the metal piece of the nib. It’s incredibly concealed, and I believe it suits you perfectly.”
Siles stared at the pen in mild amazement. That Praia ancestor must have had extraordinary modification skills, he thought.
Under Chendo’s instruction, he began using the pen. He merely had to adopt a standard writing grip and flick the pen for the ritual to take effect. In Siles’s vision, the blue radiance transformed into an invisible metal shard, shooting straight forward to pierce a wooden stool, sending splinters flying.
The stool, intricately carved, had originally been in the kitchen, but they had casually brought it in to serve as practice equipment.
“This seems very sharp,” Siles couldn’t help but remark.
“Of course,” Chendo replied. “The ancestor modified a fountain pen into a deadly weapon, and then modified it back into a pen. As a weapon, it’s sharp enough; as a pen, it writes smoothly enough.”
Siles said with interest, “It sounds as if this ancestor intentionally created a Time Trace.”
Chendo nodded, adding, “The Praia family has this tradition. For example, the bloodline transcript. It’s the most common method of utilizing power for Old God’s Scions like me, so every Old God’s Scion in the Praia family completes a transcription before they die. Copying the ‘Divine Paradigm’ requires immense willpower, and one is easily polluted, plunging into extreme madness. Therefore, they only perform such transcription right before death.”
Siles had a sudden realization, feeling that Chendo had answered a long-standing question in his mind.
Chendo then added, “However, the Replicating the Self ritual you proposed is quite an excellent method to attempt…”
Siles couldn’t help but frown. “Even so, there’s no need to force yourself to face the power of the gods.”
“I understand what you mean,” Chendo said. “I just want to be prepared. I would only attempt it as a last resort.”
Siles hesitated, but ultimately acquiesced to Chendo’s decision. In this regard, Chendo probably had more experience than he did.
“You should continue practicing,” Chendo reminded him. “If you want to change the target of your attack, you need to use… the guidance of your ‘intent.’ I’ve mentioned it to you before…”
Intent-based movement? Siles stared at a specific carved pattern on the stool, feeling momentarily confused—but how was he supposed to make the Time Trace realize where he wanted it to go…
In the next second, the invisible blue radiance shot out with a “swish,” accurately piercing that exact spot.
The speed was so fast that Siles himself didn’t even have time to react.
“You truly are a genius,” Chendo said, somewhat surprised.
Siles: “…”
Even the genius himself hasn’t figured out what just happened.
Siles couldn’t help but get competitive. He pondered what exactly had happened and why he was able to control the pen’s attack range. He tried a few more times; sometimes he succeeded, sometimes he failed. Searching for a frame of reference, he suddenly realized that the closest comparison to this “intent-based movement” was the dice when he rolled a check.
When he silently initiated a check on someone in his mind, the scenario was almost identical to this, except he needed to alter his silent command to “attack that spot.” He didn’t need to explain to the pen which spot it was; his intent seemed to clearly guide its trajectory, just as he clearly pinpointed the target of a check. Now, he merely had to issue the command to the pen.
What miraculous power, Siles marveled. Compared to the Time Traces used by other Revelators today, both the Time Traces and rituals of the Praia family naturally carried the aura of that ancient and mysterious lineage.
Siles made several more attempts, slowly ensuring he could hit specific spots on the chair. Then he tried aiming at targets further away outside the window—a flower in the garden, a leaf on a branch, and so on.
Later, Chendo had him practice on moving objects, tossing a doll for Siles to shoot down mid-air with the pen. In this scenario, his accuracy dropped significantly. However, this specific exercise made Siles realize that this practice was remarkably similar to target practice in a first-person shooter on Earth.
Hand-eye coordination, perspective tracking, dynamic vision… it’s incredibly similar, he thought.
Once he found an appropriate reference point, Siles’s success rate skyrocketed. His rate of improvement even left Chendo amazed, while Siles thought to himself that he had, after all, played his fair share of shooter games.
…Well, in his thirties, he probably wasn’t as sharp as he was at twenty, but the game sense remained. Using a Time Trace to attack didn’t require quick reflexes anyway, he reasoned.
By four o’clock, the practice session concluded. Despite the light physical exertion, Siles felt a long-lost sensation—akin to finishing a gaming session on Earth and realizing he had performed surprisingly well. Furthermore, as he gradually attuned himself to the fountain pen, he realized he didn’t actually need to perform the flicking motion. A slight movement of the pen was enough to unleash the invisible attack.
It’s a bit like some kind of hidden weapon, Siles thought. Only, he could see it within this wondrous field of vision.
After an afternoon of practice, Chendo affectionately kissed Siles and said, “You truly command a whole new level of respect.”
Siles chuckled softly. “You sound like you’re coaxing a child, Chendo.”
“Then what should I say?” Chendo tilted his head, his emerald eyes fixed on Siles. “Your elegance leaves me captivated?”
Siles considered it, then answered honestly, “That feels even more overly sentimental.”
Chendo sighed. “You truly are a difficult man to please.” He paused, then suddenly laughed. “But since I love you so much, it hardly matters.”
“I love you too. Time to get down to business, Chendo,” Siles said.
“Alright,” Chendo replied. “Tomorrow afternoon, if I remember correctly, you’re attending that… Gesha Literature Club event?”
Siles nodded. “It’s a theme chosen by my two apprentices. It seems to be a reading session. If you’d like, Teaching Assistant Chendo, you can join as well.”
Chendo gave a low laugh and admitted very frankly, “If I go, I probably won’t have the patience to read. All my attention will be on you. I’ll wait for you in your office until the event ends.”
Siles didn’t push the matter, simply nodding. “I’ll come find you then.”
They changed clothes, preparing to head out. Chendo changed into a formal suit, while Siles just tidied up his attire. Seeing Chendo in formal wear was a rare sight, and it made Siles feel a sense of pleasant surprise. This man from Kansas, with his exotic features, always carried the aura of an Ashless Lands explorer. But when he truly dressed up, he exuded the unmistakable bearing of an aristocratic heir.
“Do you like this outfit?” Chendo asked, adjusting his bow tie, looking slightly unaccustomed to his reflection in the mirror.
“I think it looks excellent,” Siles replied.
Chendo examined himself, then looked at Siles, remarking, “It feels as though I’ve dressed to look like you.”
Siles paused and stood next to Chendo. At a glance, ignoring facial features and hair color, both men were dressed in tailored suits and did indeed look very similar. Under the cover of night, a fleeting glance could easily confuse the two of them.
“Then you need to stand up straighter,” Siles pointed out. Despite being of similar height, Chendo always slouched lazily, reluctant to stand perfectly straight.
“Alright, alright, whatever you say.” Chendo straightened up a bit, then added, “It is an honor to resemble you.”
Siles shook his head. “No, Chendo. You are you. There’s no need to resemble anyone else.”
“I don’t consider you ‘anyone else’,” Chendo said. “Of course, I understand what you mean. I was merely saying… being able to draw closer to the god one worships is a believer’s greatest honor.”
Siles turned his head and kissed Chendo’s lips in response, then sighed. “We can’t keep talking here. It’s time to go.”
“Then let’s set off,” Chendo said. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.”
The restaurant where Siles dined with the Fenn family was near Bain Bookstore, serving typical Konst cuisine. Bertram seemed to hold partial ownership of the establishment and had grandly booked out the entire place.
However, only the four of them actually came to eat.
Mrs. Fenn looked radiant. Partly because she had dressed up for the dinner, and partly because she seemed to be in excellent spirits.
Upon taking his seat, Siles asked curiously, “Mrs. Fenn, did you encounter some good news?”
Beside him, both Bertram and Anthony, the father and son, simultaneously looked up at the ceiling. It seemed they had already heard Mrs. Fenn chatter about it countless times over the past while and were now tired of listening.
Mrs. Fenn, however, didn’t think so, saying very cheerfully, “Yes! Siles, haven’t I always been doing handicrafts with Mrs. Collens?
“The weather has been too cold lately, and I heard many people in the West District are suffering from a lack of food and clothing. So I discussed it with Mrs. Collens—we decided to sell the finished crafts we made before and use the money to help the poor.
“And it actually brought in quite a bit of money! Of course, I have to thank my Mr. Fenn. If it weren’t for his help, Mrs. Collens and I would never have been able to sell our handicrafts.”
At this point, Mrs. Fenn couldn’t help but look at her husband.
Bertram naturally took the cue. “No, no, darling, it’s because the things you make are truly quite excellent.”
Mrs. Fenn looked thoroughly delighted by the praise.
Siles also offered a few words of compliment. But then, struck by an idea, he asked, “Since you and Mrs. Collens have already given it a try, would you consider selling the things you make in a shop?”
Mrs. Fenn looked at Siles in surprise, not expecting him to propose such an idea.
Siles explained earnestly, “I mentioned to you before that a friend offered me a vacant storefront in the underground trade market in the West District. I’ve been considering what kind of business to run. I previously considered children’s toys, but just those wouldn’t be enough, and they don’t quite fit the style of the underground market. My mother once recommended handicrafts in a letter, thinking it a moderate choice.
“It just so happens that you and Mrs. Collens have been doing this. If you are willing to participate and sell your handcrafted items in the store, it would be highly suitable and could attract more customers.
“I recall Mrs. Collens used to sell her creations on consignment in a shop? Well, she could definitely place some of her goods in my store; I can offer a larger cut of the profits. This is just an experiment, as the shop hasn’t officially opened yet, and I’m not sure how business will be.
“Also, since the shop is located in the underground market—a rather secluded location—I intend to adopt a slightly unconventional operational model, which might require more hands. I initially planned to have the street children of the West District run it. But they are children, after all. Minding the store and running errands might be fine, but if any issues arise, an adult needs to step in.
“So, you and Mrs. Collens—and perhaps Mrs. Lampson, you might have heard of this lady’s tragic circumstances from Mrs. Collens—I sincerely hope you all could participate in this store’s business.”
Siles spoke these words with utmost sincerity.
On one hand, he had always wanted to get that shop running but lacked the time himself. On the other hand, he noticed Mrs. Fenn seemed to have derived a certain joy from the experience of turning a hobby into a source of income. Coincidentally, he also wanted to find a way to help Louisa Lampson.
“Letting us ladies participate in business?” Mrs. Fenn said with some surprise. “But… will that work?”
She subconsciously looked at Bertram.
Bertram took Mrs. Fenn’s hand and said gently, “You can go and give it a try, Irene. I imagine you get bored staying at home all the time, right? Why not try it with Mrs. Collens, and the Mrs. Lampson that Siles mentioned.”
“Mrs. Louisa… Lampson,” Mrs. Fenn whispered. “I do know of her. I heard Harriet talk about her. A pitiful widow who lost both her husband and her son.”
“If you have this intention, you can discuss it with Mrs. Collens and Mrs. Lampson,” Siles offered. “I’ll also have a chat with Eric later. When the time comes, we can discuss the shop’s operational model in detail. Perhaps the store can open by January next year.”
Mrs. Fenn hesitated time and again but finally nodded slowly. “This truly… this truly is a good idea.” She let out a breath, as if suddenly relieved. “Thank you, Siles.”
Beside them, Anthony tapped his rice bowl out of boredom. He chimed in, “Are you adults done talking business? Can we eat now?”
“So ill-mannered!” Bertram reprimanded him in mock anger.
Anthony widened his eyes and purposely retorted, “But didn’t we come out today specifically to eat?”
The others couldn’t help but laugh.
Bertram couldn’t sustain his anger either. He turned to Siles and said with a smile, “Siles, you wanted me to get involved in the shop’s business before, and I refused. But now you’ve pulled Irene into it instead. How interesting.”
Siles also smiled. “Just a coincidence.”
It was only after actually inviting Mrs. Fenn that Siles realized it was genuinely a good choice. Firstly, Mrs. Fenn was interested and seemed eager to find some self-worth outside of the home. Secondly, she had lived in the West District for many years; she might even understand the area’s situation better than he did.
Third, Mrs. Fenn had a merchant husband, after all. Even though Bertram said he didn’t want to get involved in this sort of business anytime soon, if Mrs. Fenn joined in, could Bertram truly remain indifferent? He would inevitably offer some advice and ideas.
Aside from these three points, once Mrs. Fenn got involved, Harriet Collens and Louisa Lampson would also have the opportunity to work. Siles considered this a win-win situation.
He was more than happy to let this shop earn some money for his friends, especially the Collens family and Louisa, who was now living all alone in the West District.
Having finished discussing the matter, the dishes began to be served. With the new year just a few days away, their conversation inevitably revolved around the events that had transpired over the past year.
Naturally, they also seamlessly brought up their plans for New Year’s Eve.
This year’s New Year’s Eve fell on a Wednesday. According to the customs of the Duchy of Konst, both that day and the first day of the New Year would be holidays.
Siles didn’t have any classes on Wednesday anyway. He figured he would first meet with Grenfield in the morning, and then spend the afternoon and evening with Chendo. This was his plan, though he hadn’t yet spoken to Chendo about the day’s arrangements. After all, Chendo had his own matters to attend to; perhaps it would be better to decide as the time drew closer.
“When the time comes, the Church of the Past should be holding a very grand celebration,” Bertram said. “They only do this twice a year: on the Day of Divine Birth and New Year’s Eve.”
Siles nodded in understanding. “Then presumably, quite a few high-ranking figures will attend such a celebration.”
“Indeed,” Bertram nodded.
They expanded the topic to the current situation of the Duchy’s upper echelons, as well as other climate and economic issues. However, upon realizing that neither Mrs. Fenn nor Anthony was particularly interested in these matters, they tacitly changed the subject.
After the meal, as Mr. and Mrs. Fenn went to pay the bill, Siles chatted with Anthony.
“How have Jimmy and the others been doing lately?” Siles asked.
“Not bad,” Anthony replied. “They found a dilapidated house, renovated it a bit, and turned the place into a home. No matter what, it’s much better than their previous transient situation. The girls too—Jimmy distributed the money you gave them to those girls.”
Siles nodded, feeling somewhat relieved. He then said, “I have another task I need to entrust them with.”
Surprised to hear this, Anthony said, “Just say the word. They’ve been overwhelmed by the five hundred Duke coins you gave them before and have been wanting to do something more to help you. Though, this is also mutually beneficial.”
Anthony has really grown a bit, Siles thought, to even know the term ‘mutually beneficial’.
Anthony asked, “So, what do you want them to investigate?”
“Darwin Hospital, the one in the West District,” Siles said. “I need to know any rumors related to children at this hospital, as well as a doctor named Hubert Fox. Additionally, there is a child who purportedly used to wander the West District. His name is Nanisal; that’s the only name I know. I want to ask Jimmy and the others if they know anything about this child’s past.”
Anthony listened carefully, then said, “Darwin Hospital, Hubert Fox, Nanisal. Alright, I’ve got it. Wait for Jimmy’s good news.”
Siles thanked him and asked him to convey this gratitude to Jimmy as well.
Anthony waved his hand, then suddenly sighed, saying, “You’re truly a strange person. Jimmy is obviously extremely grateful to you, and you’ve constantly been helping those street kids, yet you still thank them. Even though Jimmy is my friend, I have to admit that it’s only right for them to do a few things for you. You’re also planning to use that shop’s business to help them, aren’t you?”
Siles paused slightly, then replied, “However, right now I am the one who needs their help. One thing has nothing to do with the other.”
Anthony shrugged. “Maybe that’s just your principle.”
“Indeed it is,” Siles said.
He couldn’t simply equate the help he offered others with the help they offered him, as if it were some form of equivalent exchange. He disliked that concept; he would rather keep everything clearly demarcated, even if it meant being out of sync with this world’s social norms. However, he was long past his younger years. He knew his own personality perfectly well and had no intention of pandering to more conventional practices.
Anthony looked at Siles with a surprised, appraising gaze. He seemed to understand something, yet also appeared more confused; but before he could ask anything else, his parents returned from settling the bill.
Bertram remarked, “How strange. It’s clearly winter now, yet the cost of dining out has actually gotten cheaper.”
“Perhaps it’s because the weather conditions lately haven’t been as bad as a while ago, making the transportation of ingredients much more stable,” Siles noted.
“That is indeed a possibility,” Bertram replied. “Once the development plan for the Withered Wasteland is truly completed, our lives should become even more convenient, right?”
“Hopefully,” Siles said.
He bid farewell to the Fenn family, then walked toward 6 Hayward Street on the cold winter night.
This restaurant wasn’t far from 32 Lowell Street. Siles originally intended to head straight back, but for some reason, his footsteps inadvertently carried him toward Lowell Street. From a distance, he saw that the familiar windows of 32 Lowell Street were still pitch black. He figured Chendo probably wasn’t home yet.
But just as he was thinking this, the windows of 32 Lowell Street suddenly lit up with a warm yellow glow.
Siles froze for a moment. By the time he reacted, the corners of his lips had already slightly curled up. He revealed what could be called a tender smile; unfortunately, even though this smile was because of Chendo, Chendo wouldn’t have the chance to see it.
What a coincidence, he thought. Chendo, what a coincidence. We’ve crossed paths at this exact moment.
He stood there quietly for a while, gazing at the light emanating from his lover. After a long moment, he exhaled softly and then headed toward where the light shone.
Chendo came to open the door. Seeing Siles standing outside, he couldn’t help but say with pleasant surprise, “You’re here. Have you finished eating too?”
“Yes,” Siles said. “I saw the lights were on, so I came over to say hello.”
Chendo leaned in and hugged him.
They were still standing in the doorway. Chendo had already taken off his coat and was only wearing a sweater. Siles asked, “Aren’t you cold?”
“A little bit, but thinking of you, I don’t feel it anymore,” Chendo murmured.
Siles let out a helpless sigh. “Do you want to catch a cold too?” He paused. “I should go. Chendo, hurry back inside.”
“…Let’s hug a bit longer; how about that?” Chendo showed absolutely no intention of letting go.
Siles stayed silent for a moment, then reached out and unzipped his coat, letting the oversized garment awkwardly wrap around Chendo as well. It was quite a stretch for the coat; this was no easy feat.
Fully satisfied, Chendo wrapped his arms around Siles’s waist. “You’re so good,” he murmured softly. “There’s no one better than you.”
He paused for a moment, then added, “Thinking that someone as wonderful as you belongs to me fills me with such pride. I wish I could show you off to the whole world.”
Siles couldn’t help but laugh. He liked this—the feeling of Chendo muttering these childish, romantic words.
They hugged quietly for a while longer before finally bidding each other goodbye.
When Siles returned to 6 Hayward Street, he didn’t notice the mail in the first-floor living room. It wasn’t until Lorenzo, who lived on the second floor, heard him return and poked his head out to remind him that Siles learned someone had written to him.
“Thank you, Lorenzo, I’ll go get it now,” Siles said, then hesitated slightly. “You look a bit… haggard?”
Lorenzo practically wore a crying face as he said in dismay, “I’m still grading assignments… I had plans to go out with friends on New Year’s Eve! But no matter what I do, I just can’t finish grading all these students’ papers! It’s such a headache.”
Siles comforted him, saying, “There’s still over a week left. You’ll have time.”
“I hope so,” Lorenzo said. “I only have myself to blame. I wanted to copy your approach and give the students more homework, to vent some of the frustration from when I was in school. In the end… sigh, I just ended up hurting myself.”
He waved goodbye to Siles and wobbled back to his room, presumably to continue grading.
Siles: “…”
Lorenzo, harming others ultimately harms oneself. He hadn’t assigned so much homework to his students just to vent frustration on behalf of his past self… then again, had he really assigned that much?
I haven’t even brought over Earth’s ‘sea of questions’ tactic yet, he thought.
Siles turned around to grab the letter from the first floor. It was from the Church of the Past.
He was somewhat surprised, not knowing why the Church of the Past would write to him. Only after he returned to the third floor, lit the stove, changed his clothes, and opened the envelope to read did he discover that the letter was an invitation to attend the Church of the Past’s New Year’s Eve celebration.
Additionally, alongside the highly formal invitation, a piece of stationery was attached. The sender was Archbishop Grosvenor, but the words were rather vague and ambiguous.
“…I imagine you have always found the Church of the Past’s friendly attitude rather strange. I do not wish for you to mistakenly believe we harbor any malice, or that we intend to use you for something.
“However, I believe this is indeed a good day to be frank and open. Perhaps when the last day of this year arrives, we could sit down and have a proper talk. I very much look forward to your arrival.
“…”
Siles frowned slightly, gazing at the words on the stationery, feeling a subtle peculiarity.
Grosvenor wanted to talk to him?
This was exactly what Siles wanted to do as well, only he hadn’t yet found a suitable opportunity. He hadn’t expected Grosvenor to directly send such an invitation to meet.
Judging by the letter’s contents, the Church of the Past did indeed hold a certain goodwill toward him, and this goodwill was based on some reason unknown to Siles. His attitude had made Grosvenor realize that if they didn’t have an honest talk, their goodwill might actually backfire. Thus, using the pretext of New Year’s Eve, Grosvenor had sent this letter.
It had to be said, Siles was indeed tempted by this, as he was genuinely very curious about exactly why the Church of the Past maintained such a mild, friendly attitude toward him and had provided so much help. If the [Shield fragment] could be considered a private gift from Head Knight Banyan, then those two items—Karacoc’s Diary and [Akamara’s Eyeglass Frame]—must have definitely passed through Grosvenor’s hands.
Just why is that? Siles couldn’t help but feel bewildered.
He noted this down in his notebook, then couldn’t help but think: he had originally wanted to spend this year’s New Year’s Eve with Chendo, but it seemed it was already too late for that. Perhaps they could have lunch together that day?
Considering this, Siles placed the letter in his drawer. After finishing his wash-up routine, he pulled out the transcript he had brought back from Chendo’s place—a document relating to the relationship between Thaddeus and Personari.
If these two gods were mentioned simultaneously, people would naturally think of the Augustus Empire. It was a behemoth of the Age of Empire, and the origin of humanity’s cultural domain today. Many allusions and story archetypes originated from this nation. As a scholar in the literary field, Siles was well aware of this.
Behind the Augustus Empire stood three gods: the God of High Mountains and Rivers, the messenger walking in nature, Trisli; the God of Death and Calamity, the curtain at the end of death, Thaddeus; and the God of Fertility and Life, the blooming flowers of spring, Personari.
The cooperation between these three deities had once been excellent. Their honeymoon phase lasted for an entire millennium, allowing the prosperity of the Augustus Empire to endure for a thousand years as well. But after that, for some unknown reason, Thaddeus and Personari suddenly broke into contradiction and conflict. Trisli was unable to mend the rift between them.
Subsequently, the Augustus Empire fell apart as a result, even splitting into two completely hostile empires, each symbolizing life and death, and kicking off a war that stretched for centuries.
When this believer of Ligadia authored this manuscript, the Augustus Empire hadn’t yet completely collapsed, merely showing signs of decline. This perfectly allowed Siles a glimpse into the situation of that era.
“…Life and death are separated by a vast chasm. Everyone knows what life is about, yet no one knows what death entails. Therefore, the believers of death always carry fear and confusion within their faith, not knowing how they can earn their god’s favor.
“Conversely, the believers of life can face death far more calmly, because they have already walked their complete, ‘living’ lives. Their lives have already proven their faith, and death is merely the conclusion of it.
“Thus, the people of Augustus are fundamentally self-divided and contradictory. When I embarked on my journey, I heard that the populace of Augustus held a certain chain of contempt. The believers of life think the believers of death don’t live their lives properly, while the believers of death think the believers of life don’t treat death properly; meanwhile, the believers of both life and death simultaneously look down on the believers of nature, thinking they only know how to frolic in the mountains and waters.
“This was an eye-opener for me. Perhaps these are the kinds of foreign anecdotes one can only glean and hear while on a journey. I finally understand why the believers of my God always embark on travels.
“…However, sometimes the believers of life and death can reach a consensus on certain topics. For example, they both strongly agree that a human life ought to have meaning and value—though if one delves deeper into what exactly that value is, they will start arguing all over again.
“For the believers of life, it’s about life itself; they need to add luster and color to their own lives. Furthermore, perhaps because Personari also symbolizes fertility, bearing and raising offspring is extremely important to this group of believers. Education is a topic they frequently debate.
“As for the believers of death, it’s about making their own deaths more valuable. Because no one knows what the world after death is like, even if they truly believe in Thaddeus, death remains a highly mysterious and unknown experience for them. Therefore, they strive to become important figures, to make themselves hold significant weight. This way, when they die, their death itself becomes a grand event.
“As far as I know, both the believers of life and death surprisingly have very close relationships with the believers of Atkinia. Perhaps it’s because in humanities fields like music, art, and literature, it is easier for people to find the value of living.
“Of course, perhaps there are some who forge new paths, attempting to approach it from other angles. But after all, with the deity Atkinia present, people will sometimes habitually rely on and step into the domain governed by the god. This is a very common occurrence, yet as I pen these words at this moment, it makes me feel that this is also something incredibly novel and worth studying. Human psychology is truly unfathomable.
“…”
Judging by this manuscript from the believer of Ligadia, the followers of the two gods, Personari and Thaddeus, did indeed share a contradictory, intertwined dynamic with each other. On one hand, life and death were diametrically opposed; on the other hand, life and death were topics both had to face.
This sense of contradiction permeated every aspect of these two groups of believers—their beliefs, behaviors, daily lives, and even the overarching atmosphere of the Augustus Empire. The presence of Trisli and His believers could indeed smooth over this issue. But the rift was always there. Once the contradiction escalated, or if the social landscape turned unpleasant, the situation would deteriorate in an instant.
The Augustus Empire did indeed collapse in an instant under these circumstances.
However, looking solely at this manuscript, no one at the time anticipated that the Augustus Empire would be so easily affected by the conflicting faiths of the two gods’ believers. People assumed the Augustus Empire could continue the glory it had maintained for the past millennium.
But the Fisher World was, ultimately, deeply influenced by the gods.
From this manuscript, Siles had no way of knowing the true relationship between Thaddeus and Personari. They were like the most intimate yet most hostile of twins, relying upon yet hating one another. Sun and moon, life and death.
Of course, inferring the relationships of deities from the relationships of their believers could easily lead to misunderstandings.
Siles turned his attention to another piece of information revealed in the manuscript.
The believers of life and death were both very close to the believers of Atkinia?
This information caused Siles to suddenly narrow his eyes.
He thought of something from quite a while ago—the letter Professor Calverley had left for him.
In that letter, Professor Calverley used a specific description, writing: “I can imagine Thaddeus’s cloak floating around me.”
…Would ordinary people use such an expression? Ordinary people probably didn’t even know that Thaddeus’s image included a cloak!
This was a question Siles only realized in hindsight.
Because he knew Thaddeus’s image was a mass of black mist wearing a crown and draped in a cloak—information he had learned from Carol. He had taken it for granted that ordinary people might know this as well.
But—that was Carol, a Revelator close to holding a seat on the Elders’ Council in the History Society. Information learned from them was not necessarily that simple.
Siles had never heard of Thaddeus’s image from anywhere else. People only knew Thaddeus symbolized “the curtain at the end of death,” but who would actually think that Thaddeus draped that “curtain” over Himself like a cloak?
It was unlikely for people to make this association. So, when Professor Calverley phrased it that way…
A thought sprouted in Siles’s mind: Could Professor Calverley have been a believer of death?
This seemed to explain why Professor Calverley possessed the complete works of Conan Fremont. People had been searching for this set of historically lost books for centuries, yet it ultimately ended up in the hands of a seemingly ordinary bibliophile?
If they were both believers of death, it would make far more sense.
This further led Siles to wonder: when Adolphus stated the Grant family was connected to Atkinia, was he truly implying they were believers of Atkinia?
Why couldn’t they be a group of death believers, disguising themselves as harmless believers of art?
He froze for a moment, then sighed softly.
Ultimately, he thought, this was merely his speculation.
Why was his mind wandering in this direction? Perhaps it was because when he interacted with these elderly men—Professor Calverley, Adolphus Grant, Alden Bridges—they brought up death far too often.
But then again, that was something looming ever so close to them.
Siles pondered for a moment, picked out a few keywords from these thoughts, and jotted them down in his notebook. He figured he could perhaps probe Dorothea about it on Thursday.
Right, after that, he also needed to observe Jules Hans’s situation. Even though Jules Hans had only played with that Rubik’s Cube and wasn’t a Revelator himself—meaning his spirituality shouldn’t be very high—it was still a god’s power, after all.
To be safe, Siles still intended to keep an eye on him.
Having done all this, he checked the time, noticed it was past ten o’clock, packed everything away, and fell asleep.
The next morning, Wednesday, December 23. A light snow began to fall from the sky. Seeing that the weather shouldn’t affect travel much, Siles headed out to the History Society to meet with Grenfield.
