The red mud on the isolated island felt moist and dense. Like thick blood, or soft cake.
And he was wearing leather shoes. The hard leather soles stamped deep footprints one after another into the red mud. His gaze occasionally drifted to the giant doll on the other side of the sea. It blocked out the sky, yet was entangled by countless threads.
Even more occasionally, he would unintentionally look up and catch a glimpse of the stars that Leon had described as rotting eyeballs. He saw the pitch-black night sky and the twinkling stars. And otherwise, nothing at all.
…Right, the mist.
He thought of the mist. It was only at that moment he realized the mist truly surrounded him, even obstructing his vision. Yet he hadn’t felt this way before, nor had he ever felt the mist would block his gaze.
This is his dream, he thought.
Therefore, his gaze could pierce through the obstruction of the mist, and his vision could encompass the entirety of the sea.
He stopped in the center of the isolated island.
In the center of the isolated island, just as he had thought, there was nothing. However, he could faintly sense that something was hidden not on the isolated island, but… beneath it.
…This is his dream.
Thus, his gaze pierced through the thick red mud, through the cold, dry stone. His gaze saw into the deep sea.
The deep sea—the deep sea. He saw countless souls; he saw the dreams of countless people.
At this moment, Siles jolted awake.
Four o’clock in the morning. A somewhat uncomfortable feeling arose in Siles’s heart, but it couldn’t be called the polluted, half-mad sensation from the first time he entered this dream.
He just felt a bit unpleasant. Because of a dream he thought he had escaped, but which was actually still entangling him.
But through this strange turn of events, because of this dream, he instead understood something.
That is indeed… Akamara’s power, Siles thought blankly.
He found it hard to describe exactly what he saw after his gaze pierced through the isolated island and the sea. He seemed to see countless water droplets, bubbles, and elements in the deep sea. Each drop of water was a person’s dream, and their dreams guarded the isolated island covered in soft red mud.
What exactly did such an isolated island signify? And the doll? The threads? The mist? The starry sky?
Siles was completely baffled. He knew such imagery must be symbolic. When he first learned of this dream from Leon’s manuscript, the die prompting a one-point increase in his Knowledge attribute was a perfect example.
However, Siles couldn’t truly arrive at an answer.
He sighed. Looking on the bright side, at least this dream only made him wake up startled at 4 AM every day, without bringing any substantial mental pollution. That counted as good news.
Siles lay flat on his bed, his gaze looking out the window, completely devoid of sleepiness.
He lay with his eyes open until daybreak, feeling as if he had wasted a lot of time.
If this kind of dream continued, and he kept waking up startled at 4 AM every time and couldn’t fall back asleep afterward, Siles felt he might as well go to sleep earlier and simply wake up at four o’clock.
…Is the power of a god meant to help people adjust their sleep schedules?
Siles thought speechlessly as he slowly washed up.
He spent a quiet Tuesday. Teaching, eating, resting, writing, thinking about his paper, reading—time ticked by drop by drop.
He received a reply from his mother. The letter contained words of concern. As Siles had hoped, his mother was no longer sending him money. This brought Siles a massive sigh of relief.
When night fell, Siles hesitated for a moment, and eventually did get into bed at nine o’clock.
Whether it was because his body felt exhausted or for some other reason, he thought he wouldn’t be able to sleep because it was too early. But in reality, the moment his head hit the pillow, he immediately fell into a heavy slumber… or rather, a dream.
It was still that quiet isolated island and the sea.
In the dream, he seemed quieter, more restrained. Every time, he appeared on the edge of the isolated island, and then slowly walked toward its center.
Only after reaching the center of the isolated island did he feel a gradual ability to control this body and master its will. All prior actions felt like mechanical, spontaneous movements.
Once again, he looked toward the deep sea.
This time he observed much more carefully. He noticed countless dreams, some closer to him, some farther away. He wasn’t entirely sure where this sense of distance came from.
He felt those dreams were like soap bubbles, one after another, yet sturdy and stable. Occasionally, a bubble would pop. He suspected that meant someone had woken up and was no longer dreaming.
Bubbles in the deep sea—he couldn’t help but think of Akamara’s divine portfolio. Beautiful iridescent bubbles.
His gaze unconsciously drifted to the giant doll standing on the surface of the sea. Was this Akamara? A beautiful little girl. But why was she merely standing there, turned into a lifeless doll, and moreover, entangled by countless threads?
He was curious, but cautiously did not pursue the thought further.
He lowered his eyes, continuing to observe those bubbles in the deep sea. He could see from afar what was happening inside them.
Some were illogical, inexplicable events; some were nightmares; some were sweet dreams; some were endlessly repeating scenes, as if the dreamer were trapped in an infinite loop.
He watched quietly, carrying an unexpectedly calm and cold feeling that even he hadn’t anticipated.
He thought he would wake up under these circumstances. But after a very, very long time, when he felt he was almost becoming numb and exhausted from these scenes, he realized he didn’t seem able to just wake up.
He seemed trapped here.
He couldn’t help but feel a slight anxiety. But quickly, he calmed down again.
He recalled his past three entries into this dream. The first time, he woke up startled because he was about to step onto the isolated island; the second time was because he was about to reach the center of the isolated island; the third time was because he looked at the dreams in the deep sea.
In other words, he had to take some kind of action in this place before he would wake up startled, rather than just waiting silently.
So, he hesitated, and thought for a long time about what he could do.
The isolated island held only soft red mud, empty of anything else. So, after a moment’s thought, he stepped toward the sea. At the edge of the isolated island, the red mud merged into the seawater, turning into crystalline, transparent light that quickly dissolved into the surface.
His leather shoes stepped on the junction of the red mud and the seawater.
He felt the sensation was somewhat strange, so he crouched down and gently touched the seawater with his hand.
The moment his skin touched the seawater, he felt a subtle, strange, unsettlingly tense impulse and an eerie… enlightenment.
His hand curled into a fist, then turned over and opened. He saw that his palm was currently holding several dream bubbles.
Siles jolted awake at this moment. Four o’clock in the morning, as always.
In that moment, two thoughts formed in his mind. The first was that he had actually scooped up other people’s dreams from the seawater in his dream, like catching fish. The second thought was: Am I going to have to wake up at four o’clock every day from now on?
That’s a bit too miserable, Siles thought.
He sighed in distress, feeling utterly devoid of sleepiness, and resignedly got out of bed. The night outside the window was still pitch black. He felt he might be one of the earliest people in the city to wake up.
After washing up, Siles sat at his desk and turned on the wall lamp. The light illuminated a small patch of his world. His gaze silently stared out the window. He pondered the meaning of every symbol in the dream.
If this sea, isolated island, and doll symbolized Akamara’s power—and if those dreams in the deep sea truly existed—then, was this a…
A place akin to a hidden divine kingdom?
A location where Akamara stored Her power. And such a location could similarly only be reached through dreams.
But this gave Siles a new doubt.
If such a place truly existed, why had he and Leon entered it so inexplicably? A place like this should surely be a highly important, concealed location, right?
Furthermore, if Akamara possessed such a… in other words, a place to contain Her power, would other gods also possess such places?
…Sanctuaries? A term with religious significance appeared in Siles’s mind.
He didn’t know the exact name of this place, so he temporarily called it the Deep Sea Dream.
Within the Deep Sea Dream, he could see the dreams of others and scoop them up from the deep sea. Since he could scoop them into his palm, Siles deduced that he could similarly enter or alter these dreams.
He even thought, could he perhaps bring the consciousness of these dreamers onto the isolated island?
These were all his conjectures.
But currently, he could perhaps only act as a spectator.
He still needed to explore this power cautiously. He didn’t believe in free lunches falling from the sky. Leon had gone completely mad because of this dream, his manuscript densely packed with records of dream contents—and it wasn’t even just the one dream Siles had encountered.
Siles didn’t believe he could always safely explore the Deep Sea Dream.
Moreover, over half a month ago, he had this dream for two consecutive days. Then the dream paused for half a month. Half a month later, the dream appeared again, also for two consecutive days.
…No, accurately speaking, more than half a month.
The last time he dreamed was… August 7th and 8th. And this time it was the 29th and 30th. A full 21 days had passed, a period of three weeks.
He couldn’t help but wonder: after these two days, would he continue to have the dream? Or would he have to wait another 21 days? Why hadn’t he had the dream during that previous period? Why exactly 21 days?
Siles was completely bewildered by this.
If he still had this dream today… Siles thought, then he would try scooping up dreams from different locations on the isolated island. If he didn’t have the dream today, then he would continue to wait and see what happened.
Having made up his mind, his mood also lightened somewhat.
It was nearly six o’clock, so Siles changed his clothes and went to the cafeteria for breakfast. The weather was getting colder, so Siles put on a loose trench coat, placing the brooch in his pocket, and carrying the shield fragment gifted by Bunyan and a bottle of potion in his bag.
However, Siles did not consume the potion.
If he took a potion every day, the supply Grenfield had given him would quickly be depleted. Siles hadn’t yet looked into the market price of potions, so he intended to use them sparingly.
At eight o’clock in the morning, he arrived punctually at Room 177 of the History Society. Grenfield was already waiting for him there.
“Good morning, big shot,” Grenfield sat there and said lazily.
Siles paused: “Good morning, Teacher. What big shot?”
“You’re famous in the History Society,” Grenfield said. “Did you tell Bellow you wanted some Revelators suffering from mental pollution to participate in an experiment?”
“Yes,” Siles said.
Grenfield shook his head: “Just as I said, Bellow is a crazy old man. He went about this a bit… too openly, letting quite a few people know.
“Many people want to participate in your experiment. Perhaps they won’t join the first time, but the second, the third… that’s not necessarily the case. After all, it’s at least an attempt. Many people don’t even have the chance to try.”
Siles was momentarily taken aback. After a thought, he said, “Then it can only be this way.”
“Yes, it can only be this way.” Grenfield’s expression grew serious. “So, you need to be even more careful about your safety. Especially since the Society is very chaotic internally right now.”
“Chaotic?”
“Because of the Dawn Revelation Society,” Grenfield sighed and said. “A Revelator who popped up out of nowhere suddenly became a member of the Dawn Revelation Society.
“Such a thing hasn’t been seen in ten years. Some old fogeys had probably forgotten the existence of the Dawn Revelation Society, and now it jumps out to be an eyesore to them again. Truly unbelievable.”
Siles remained silent.
Grenfield continued to ramble: “The founder of the Dawn Revelation Society has been missing for many years. The President—that’s what he should be called—has been missing for over a decade.”
Siles still remained silent.
Grenfield finally realized that Siles’s prolonged silence was somewhat amiss. He condescended to stop talking, looked at Siles, and asked, “What?”
Siles said, “I joined the Dawn Revelation Society.”
The comical and incredulous expression that flashed across Grenfield’s face for a split second left a deep impression on Siles, one he would never forget.
Grenfield nearly jumped out of his chair. He leaned close to Siles, looked at him for a moment, and clicked his tongue in amazement: “Truly unbelievable.”
Siles, however, changed the subject: “Teacher, what kind of organization is the Dawn Revelation Society exactly? I couldn’t get any useful information out of those few members inside the organization.”
Carol had indeed provided some information, but it didn’t touch upon the core—the Dawn Revelation Society was established to await the revelation of the dawn. What did that all mean?
As for the Paperboy and the Noblewoman, perhaps because they weren’t familiar enough, they merely chattered about trivial matters of daily life, completely failing to express any opinions on the Dawn Revelation Society itself.
Grenfield wore a resentful expression as he said, “The Dawn Revelation Society…” He mumbled, “It’s exactly what it says on the tin. The revelation of the dawn.”
Siles looked at him, somewhat puzzled.
“…Never mind.” Grenfield shook his head. “Since you’ve already joined the Revelation Society, there’s no harm in telling you. The History Society and the Dawn Revelation Society are actually not in a superior-subordinate relationship.
“At least, not what it appears to be on the surface—that the Dawn Revelation Society is a faculty of the History Society. It’s not that kind of relationship.”
Siles nodded thoughtfully.
He had had this premonition before, so he wasn’t too surprised to hear Grenfield say it now.
Joining the Dawn Revelation Society required concealing one’s identity; the Dawn Revelation Society was established at the same time as the History Society… these two pieces of information already highlighted the peculiarity of the Revelation Society.
In contrast, the fact that Grenfield actually knew so much surprised Siles even more. Perhaps it was because Grenfield was once the student of Vice President Joseph Morton that he knew so many hidden secrets?
Grenfield noted Siles’s expression and didn’t hide anything. He said, “I was once the candidate for the next Vice President, so I know quite a lot about the internal affairs of the Society. But I had a falling out with my teacher, so my current position is rather awkward.”
He shrugged, appearing unconcerned.
Siles had no intention of probing further, simply saying, “I understand.”
“Then let’s continue with the Dawn Revelation Society.” Grenfield shifted his sitting position, his gaze somewhat unfocused. “The founder of the Dawn Revelation Society—the President—is the same person. He single-handedly created the peculiar space of the Salon, as well as the organization of the Dawn Revelation Society.”
Siles was startled, thinking to himself: The founder of the Dawn Revelation Society is also the creator of the Salon space?
He thought, No wonder a slip of paper inexplicably appeared in the Dawn Revelation Society’s room. I suppose the Dawn Revelation Society, to some extent, still maintains an extremely solid and secret connection with the Salon.
The Dawn Revelation Society might not be able to know the true identity beneath everyone’s disguise, but at the very least, they could know exactly how many different identities there were. Of course, ordinary members probably couldn’t achieve this.
Siles also gleaned another piece of information from Grenfield’s tone. He asked carefully, “So… this person, he lived from four hundred years ago until over a decade ago?”
“Indeed,” Grenfield nodded. “No one knows why he could live so long. Regardless, when he made his last appearance over a decade ago, he was still vigorous and energetic, looking like he could live for a very, very long time.”
Siles couldn’t help but be somewhat astonished.
That was a span of nearly four hundred years. He hadn’t heard of anyone in this world who could live that long. Even for Revelators, their lifespans only seemed to be slightly longer than ordinary people’s.
More often, like Calverley, reaching seventy or eighty years old meant they were already frail and elderly.
“So some speculated he was related to the gods. But no one knows what the truth really is,” Grenfield said. “He just always maintained that youthful appearance. We called him…”
He thought for a moment, as if trying to recall the pronunciation.
Finally, he said, “Mr. ‘Xia’.” He then added, “He said at the time that this pronunciation meant ‘summer’, but I could never understand why he insisted on using such an odd pronunciation.”
Siles froze.
When a pure Chinese pronunciation popped out of Grenfield’s mouth, he was completely dumbfounded. Then, amidst Grenfield’s explanation, a thought suddenly struck him: Is this Mr. Xia a fellow transmigrator?
“Did he…” Siles heard his own slightly dry voice say, “Did he ever say where the pronunciation of this word came from?”
Grenfield didn’t notice Siles’s strange behavior, probably because Siles was always expressionless, calm, and detached, so he couldn’t see the intense emotional fluctuations Siles was experiencing at that moment.
He shook his head and said, “I’ve never heard him say it himself. I never really met him either. However, I did hear someone say that he seemed to have heard this pronunciation from somewhere.”
Grenfield thought for a moment, then nodded with certainty: “Yes, he did say that. It was a pronunciation he heard from somewhere.”
Siles didn’t know whether he should feel relieved or regretful, and slowly nodded.
Mr. Xia’s identity as a transmigrator was highly doubtful. If he had said this word came from his distant hometown, Siles would have been absolutely certain he was a fellow countryman; but now this ambiguous statement made Siles hesitant.
However, he also thought this didn’t seem to be the main point right now. This person, who called himself “Xia,” established the Dawn Revelation Society and lived for nearly four hundred years straight.
Siles couldn’t help but ask, “What all did he do?”
Grenfield said, “Four hundred years ago, the History Society and the Dawn Revelation Society were founded almost simultaneously. It’s said that Mr. Xia and the first-generation President of the History Society—the Vice President, you should understand what I mean, the President on the Revelator side.
“It’s said they were close friends, so from the very beginning, these two organizations were allied. Even the name ‘Dawn Revelation Society’ was coined by that Vice President. But now, that’s not necessarily the case.
“In short, at the beginning, they jointly became the hidden guardians of the Duchy of Konst. You should know that at the very start of the Age of Mist, when the mist dissipated, the Duchy of Konst suffered invasions from other countries.”
Siles nodded.
“But the situation wasn’t actually that simple,” Grenfield said. “The mist inherently contained many dangers. Even when the mist dissipated, those dangers didn’t vanish. Some maddened beasts and maddened humans entered the Duchy’s territory at that time.
“And similarly, at that time, Revelator powers were not yet very mature. People could only use ordinary weapons to fight against those dangers… dangers that might contain the power and pollution of the gods.
“Mr. Xia stepped forward at that time. Unknown as to why, he had already mastered adept Revelator powers by then. I mean, he perfectly replicated many methods of the Blessed Ones—this was only confirmed in later generations, in subsequent research.
“At the time, people felt he was like a god descended to earth. It just so happened that Antinam’s reputation was spreading then, so people all thought Mr. Xia was an envoy sent by Antinam.
“…To be honest, I somewhat believe this theory too. Otherwise, there’s no way to explain why, four hundred years ago, Mr. Xia could use Revelator powers, and be so powerful.”
Siles also nodded.
A thought arose in his heart—perhaps that’s really the case? Perhaps Mr. Xia really is related to Antinam? That’s why he would know the pronunciation of “Xia”.
Because… if Siles’s transmigration was inextricably linked to Antinam, then Antinam might also know some words and languages from Earth. This was highly probable.
Grenfield was unaware of Siles’s various thoughts.
He changed the subject: “The following few centuries were spent with Mr. Xia and the History Society jointly fighting against hidden dangers. The Dawn Revelation Society did the same. But, as people developed Revelator powers… the situation slowly changed.”
Saying this, Grenfield sighed.
Siles was slightly startled, then said, “Some people… no longer wanted to fight?”
“Not that they didn’t want to.” Grenfield hesitated, “I don’t know how to describe these things to you. I told you before, the gods still have ‘power’ existing in this world.
“And that is also a kind of power.”
Siles’s gaze darkened slightly as he said, “Some people pursue this power.”
“Pursue it almost madly,” Grenfield said. “Some humans are overly humble, believing they must forever prostrate themselves before the gods; while some humans are overly arrogant, believing the power of the gods should naturally be mastered by them.”
Siles remained silent.
He thought to himself, The History Society is indeed rife with factions.
There were those who believed “Gods are gods, humans are humans,” and there were those who believed “The power of gods can easily be mastered by humans.” Both views were extremely radical.
“So the situation changed.” Grenfield was silent for a moment, then continued, “In short, some people vainly attempted to collaborate with Old God followers—who were the enemies the History Society and the Dawn Revelation Society used to fight against.”
Grenfield sighed slowly.
“Over a decade ago, fourteen years ago to be exact, these contradictions and disputes reached their peak,” Grenfield said. “I was also swept up in it at the time. And then I had a falling out with my teacher.
“The Dawn Revelation Society… accurately speaking, Mr. Xia, also had a falling out with the History Society. After the meeting ended, he left the History Society and never appeared again.
“Because the Dawn Revelation Society was located within the Salon of the History Society, slowly, some people who didn’t quite understand the truth mistakenly believed it was a faculty of the History Society. And due to various reasons, the History Society did not clarify this misunderstanding.
“Ten years ago, the History Society recruited one last member, and then went silent. Moreover, many members who originally belonged to the Dawn Revelation Society also withdrew. Finally… if I remember correctly, only three people were left?
“Including you now, that’s only four people. According to the History Society’s standards for a faculty, this number is non-compliant, and the faculty would be forcibly disbanded.
“However, because of the Dawn Revelation Society’s special nature, no one dared to disband it. People feared Mr. Xia’s immense power, even though he hadn’t appeared in public for over a decade, and some even thought he was already dead.”
At this point, Grenfield stopped.
He asked, “Do you think Mr. Xia is dead?”
Siles shook his head.
Grenfield then said, “I think the same. This is related to the founding goal of the Dawn Revelation Society.”
“Awaiting the revelation of the dawn?” Siles said.
Grenfield nodded, then shook his head: “Revelation. This phrasing should make you think of Revelators, and then of Antinam. However, the Dawn Revelation Society… at least at its founding, did not entirely point to Antinam—the past and history; that wasn’t the case.”
Siles waited quietly for his next words.
“…It pointed to the future,” Grenfield sighed softly. “The Dawn Revelation Society awaits the dissipation of the mist, awaits the future of the Fisher world, awaits—the arrival of the dawn. This is the founding tenet of this organization.”
Siles was stunned for a moment, feeling a tinge of sorrow. He said, “That sounds like a very beautiful vision.”
“Of course,” Grenfield said. “We all hope to welcome the dawn of the world.”
They both thought in silence for a moment.
Then, Grenfield shook his head: “Forget it, this matter is too far away. For you, the key right now is to ensure your identity isn’t discovered, don’t let certain people know.
“To some people, they are like birds startled by the mere twang of a bowstring right now.
“They were the ones who implicitly agreed that the Dawn Revelation Society was just an affiliated faculty of the History Society; they were the ones who covertly and overtly pressured those members to leave the Dawn Revelation Society; and they were the ones who secretly spread the rumor that Mr. Xia would never return.”
Grenfield wore a subtle expression of disdain.
Then he said, “I don’t know if Mr. Xia will appear, nor do I know why the Dawn Revelation Society would recruit someone at a time like this. But for you, keeping a low profile is the most crucial thing.”
Siles nodded earnestly and said, “I will.”
Grenfield checked the time and couldn’t help but say, “What a long topic. Alright, we should get down to business. First…” He pulled a box the length of a hand from his drawer and handed it to Siles.
Siles was about to open it, but Grenfield stopped him, saying mysteriously, “Don’t open it now, it’s a surprise. Look at it when you get back.”
Siles, helpless, could only set the box aside.
Grenfield said, “It’s a Time Trace, of course. You need a ritual to protect yourself. Oh, and also,” he pulled another transparent box from his drawer, packed full of dozens of potion bottles, “use them well.”
Siles couldn’t help but freeze.
“Don’t even think about refusing or getting emotional,” Grenfield warned him. “I am a famous Potions Master. And, I’m very rich.”
Siles didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. In the end, he could only offer his thanks and accept the gift from his teacher.
…Why does it feel like I’m receiving gifts from people every single day? Grenfield, Bunyan, and even earlier, the profit rights gifted by Bertram Fenn… Is this okay?
Siles doubted in his heart.
“Next, tell me, have any new doubts arisen lately?” Grenfield, not waiting for Siles to speak, changed the subject again. “The three elements you’re researching, questions regarding that don’t count.
“That theory was very inspiring to me as well. Siles, you truly live up to being a professor at Lamifa University; you have great academic potential.”
Siles shook his head, finally saying, “Teacher, I do have some questions.”
What he most wanted to ask about was, of course, the Deep Sea Dream. But Grenfield had said from the start that if he had this dream again, there was no need to tell him, because it was the pure power of a god.
Siles understood his meaning—the subtext was, if you haven’t been polluted by the Old God.
Of course, in Grenfield’s words just now, he was also warning Siles: Do not arrogantly believe that power “ought” to be possessed by you. Do not become a prisoner of power.
Siles was well aware of this. Moreover, given Siles’s cautious nature, he was probably even more careful and conservative than Grenfield.
So, the question Siles ultimately asked had nothing to do with the Deep Sea Dream either.
He said, “Regarding… the profession of Scribe.”
Grenfield suddenly understood. Before Siles could fully voice his confusion, Grenfield said, “Your confusion is whether they get polluted by Old Gods by transcribing texts, right?”
Siles said, “Yes, I am a bit curious.”
“That depends on the situation,” Grenfield said. “If it’s an ordinary book, then of course there’s no problem; the book is fine, so naturally, the Scribe is fine too. You probably understand that point.
“If it’s not ordinary, then different Revelator organizations, like the History Society, the Church of the Past, and some other societies, all have dedicated Scribes who are all Revelators, and… if going by your theory, their wills are all very resolute.
“Hmm… Furthermore, even for non-ordinary books and materials, there are many different situations. If it’s only related to past Blessed Ones, the situation isn’t that severe; but if it’s related to Old Gods… the matter might be far more serious.”
Siles nodded in understanding.
It seemed the profession of Scribe had an overt and a covert distinction. The overt Scribes were just ordinary text copiers, but covertly, only resolute Revelators could truly shoulder this heavy responsibility.
And even resolute Revelators could have their minds polluted and fall into madness and delirium when transcribing records related to Old Gods.
…Siles’s long-standing confusion was answered, or perhaps, deepened? He still didn’t understand exactly who had transcribed the painter Leon’s manuscript regarding the dream.
A Scribe certainly couldn’t resist the erosion of this kind of Old God power. So would these Scribes… be forever drowned in madness?
Siles felt a subtle sense of sorrow.
Grenfield also couldn’t help but pause for a moment before continuing, “Indeed, problems often occur, your line of thought is not wrong. But we can’t stop eating for fear of choking.
“Many dangerous books contain important knowledge… the past and history, even some powerful rituals. Our enemies, like the followers of the Old Gods, might recklessly seek them out and read them.
“If we don’t do this, our strength will be weaker than theirs. And the transcribed copies don’t possess the same dangerous, eerie power and pollution as the originals, as if they’ve passed through a filter.
“Of course, I think you also understand that the Scribe’s filter is not omnipotent. Some pollution might still remain in the transcript; or the Scribe might get polluted during the transcription process, and then bring their own pollution into the transcript… these are all possibilities.
“However, the vast majority of transcripts are fine. Therefore, Scribes are a very important role and profession within Revelator organizations.”
Siles nodded earnestly.
He suddenly thought, with his high Will, could he try becoming a Scribe?
If he suffered Old God pollution, he could use the die to make a check on himself… yes, as the Keeper Siles Noel, making a check on the identity of University Professor and Revelator Siles Noel.
Would that count as an active check? Could he control the result of such a check? If he could…
Siles suddenly had a dangerous thought: Then he truly could recklessly search for ancient books and artifacts.
He took a deep breath, ultimately suppressing this highly attractive thought.
On one hand, he didn’t want to lose himself in such a shortcut; on the other hand, he also knew very well that if he actually did this, he would definitely attract the attention of many big shots, and his situation would likely be even more dangerous than it was now.
How could an ordinary Revelator resist such powerful Old God pollution?
Siles didn’t want to draw the attention of others.
…Then what about hiding your identity? A voice in his heart still spoke up, unwilling to be silenced.
Siles knew exactly why this idea tempted him: because so much time had passed, and he had yet to see any hope of returning home. So, he wanted to resort to more extreme measures.
But then he thought, he had only been in this world for a little over a month. Not that much time had passed.
It was just that he had encountered so many things, making the passage of time seem long.
In the end, Siles pushed the thought down. But he did intend to try actively initiating a check on himself at a possible future opportunity, to see if he could truly manipulate the die’s value.
While Siles was distracted, Grenfield said, “There are many Scribes who eventually lose control, as if the Old God’s pollution is constantly accumulating in their bodies, and then after reaching a threshold… Bang! Explosion!”
Siles said, “Can the Old God’s pollution accumulate?”
“That is my guess.” Grenfield shrugged, not giving a definitive answer. “There are indeed some methods to slowly eliminate Old God pollution, but currently there is no way to eradicate it completely.
“So, Siles, do you know how fascinating the theory you proposed is?”
Siles said, “Even so…”
“Even so, it’s good stuff.” Grenfield understood what he meant. “Good enough. Good enough that you can take some risks for it. After all, this can save countless lives.”
Siles nodded earnestly.
Grenfield chuckled.
Siles wasn’t quite used to discussing topics like this, so he changed the subject: “I heard about the concept of Sealed Artifacts from Director Bellow. Teacher, would someone deliberately create Sealed Artifacts?”
“Deliberately?” Grenfield said. “Of course. Otherwise, do you think the Revelators in the Research Department could really have discovered how to use such things? It’s because some… crazy Old God followers used Sealed Artifacts, so the History Society began researching them.”
Siles nodded in understanding.
Grenfield warned him, “Sealed Artifacts are very… strange. Unsettling. Try not to use such things. Of course, researching them is fine.”
“I understand,” Siles said. He added, “I also heard from Director Bellow that Biological Residues were invented by you, Teacher.”
Grenfield rolled his eyes very visibly and mumbled, “That old man, why does he blab about everything.”
Siles smiled faintly.
Grenfield coughed and said, “Yes. But this kind of thing depends on luck, pure luck. Not everything can form a Biological Residue. Sometimes…”
Siles looked at Grenfield, somewhat puzzled.
Grenfield paused for a moment, then suddenly laughed: “I’m starting to unconsciously substitute your Three Elements theory. Of course, that’s useful enough. I mean, sometimes, perhaps only humans with strong enough wills can leave behind this kind of Biological Residue.
“Thereby providing help to us in the distant future.”
Siles said, “That sounds very…” He thought for a moment, “Mystical.”
Grenfield was amused by his word choice.
Siles didn’t smile; he merely said, “In that case, Teacher, can’t we really prepare in advance for our future selves?”
Grenfield was taken aback and asked, “What?”
“Do something in advance, so our future selves can utilize the power of our past selves… or ask others in advance to become the one whose power is borrowed,” Siles said. “In short, prepare in advance.”
This was a method Siles had thought of during the introductory course.
Grenfield fell into deep thought.
A few minutes later, he suddenly jolted awake and said, “This is a whimsical, absolutely brilliant idea!”
He looked extremely pleasantly surprised, even somewhat overjoyed.
“You are truly a genius!” Grenfield said. “If this idea can really be put into practice, the future combat methods of Revelators will undergo earth-shattering changes!”
Siles said, “It’s just an idea for now. Do you really think this line of thought will have such a huge impact?”
“Of course!” Grenfield’s eyes widened. “This is an entirely new path. Others think about borrowing power from the past, but you’re thinking about using the present to influence the future… truly unbelievable!”
Siles was slightly startled. Hearing Grenfield say this, Siles actually understood why he was so excited. Fundamentally, this was a difference in ideologies.
The future. Siles sighed softly in his heart.
Fisher was a world with a long history and a profound past. The people here were the same. The mist shrouded their world, so the vast majority of them were pragmatic, even pessimistic.
They despaired at the invisibility of their future. Their future was similarly shrouded in a layer of mist.
But the stranger who came here from Earth was not like this.
Their ideologies were worlds apart.
Grenfield looked at Siles, seeming somewhat uncomprehending, but then he remembered how few days it had been since Siles finished the introductory course… His mindset immediately balanced out, or perhaps became even more unbalanced.
“You are indeed a genius,” Grenfield said. “However, you still have a very long road ahead of you on the path of a Revelator. Anyway, I will try to verify your idea.
“If it truly succeeds…”
Grenfield smiled, stopping Siles’s words.
He simply said, “That will be an honor belonging to you.”
