“The Ashless Land…” Jules paused, looking as if he hadn’t expected Siles to bring the place up.
After thinking for a moment, he said, “The train station in Maltz connects to Galsworthy in the Ashless Land. Galsworthy is the most heavily populated and peaceful area for humans in that entire region.”
Hearing Jules mention Galsworthy, Siles realized the young man genuinely knew something about the place.
“Explorers, merchants, and travelers from the Ashless Land used to stop by our area to rest. When I was little, I would go over and chat with them, listening to their stories about the place, but that was a long time ago.”
Thinking back to his carefree childhood, a nostalgic smile touched Jules’s face. “The things I heard them mention most were the various rumors about the Ashless Land. I don’t know if they were true or fake; maybe they were just humoring a little kid. But the one that left the deepest impression on me was a specific legend.”
He paused before saying, “A palace floating in the sky.”
“Floating in the sky?” Dorothea asked, visibly surprised.
Siles was also slightly taken aback. In all the information he had gathered about the Ashless Land, he hadn’t come across this particular rumor.
“Yes,” Jules nodded vigorously, his face flushing. It was clear the memory was still fresh in his mind. “An explorer told me about it. He raised his hand, pointed at the sky, and said, ‘Up in the sky, maybe there will be a beautiful palace floating.'”
His voice slowly trailed off as he slipped into that distant memory.
A moment later, Jules looked a bit embarrassed. “That was… almost ten years ago. I never saw that explorer again, so he might have just been telling me a fairy tale.”
Siles was quite interested in the story. “Under what circumstances did you hear him talk about this?”
Jules froze for a second, seemingly feeling that the matter was trivial—just a fabricated, word-of-mouth tale. Still, he thought about it seriously for a moment.
Suddenly, he let out a gasp. “I remember now! During that time, I used to play near the train station a lot, and I ran into an explorer getting off a train.
“He had his hair tied in a braid, which wasn’t a common style in the Duchy of Konst, so I kept staring at him. He must have noticed me, because he walked over. Since I was short back then, he asked, ‘Why do you keep looking up at me?’
“I told him I had just never seen an explorer who looked like him, and I asked if he had come back from the Ashless Land. He said yes. He also said that the way I was looking up at him reminded him of something he experienced there.
“I asked him why. He told me he had seen a bunch of statues in a certain place, and they were all looking up just like that. I asked what exactly they were looking up at. And that’s when he said it. He said, ‘Up in the sky, maybe there will be a beautiful palace floating.'”
Listening nearby, Siles thought to himself: Statues looking up?
Dorothea was also listening with great interest. After a moment, she pointed out, “How strange. He wasn’t from the Duchy of Konst, was he? If he were a local, we would normally say, ‘Maybe there is a beautiful palace floating in the sky.'”
Jules pondered this for a moment and nodded. “You’re exactly right! The way he spoke sounded like a foreigner’s words directly translated over.” He looked overjoyed, as if he had just unearthed a hidden secret in his memory.
Siles observed his expression without commenting. Instead, he said, “It’s getting late. You two should go grab some lunch.”
Jules and Dorothea said their goodbyes and left the office.
Sitting alone, Siles pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking he was being far too paranoid. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel a sliver of suspicion regarding Jules’s performance just now.
This was something that happened ten years ago, and Jules initially claimed he couldn’t remember it clearly. But why, after just a brief moment of thought, was he able to recount it so vividly? He even remembered that the explorer had a braid.
After an entire decade, could someone really remember a phrase like ‘Up in the sky, maybe there will be a beautiful palace floating’ down to the exact syntax and detail?
As Dorothea noted, native speakers would naturally use a different sentence structure. With so much time passed, Jules shouldn’t have remembered the explorer’s exact phrasing. He should have naturally defaulted to his mother tongue’s grammatical habits when recalling the event. But he didn’t. He used the exact, awkward sentence structure the foreign explorer had used.
After ten years, do past memories still shine that brightly?
Siles felt suspicious, but at the same time, he wondered if he was making a mountain out of a molehill. Perhaps the young Jules was simply so deeply impacted by his encounter with a foreign explorer that he had continuously replayed the memory in his mind over the years. Even as he grew up, went to university, and became busy with daily life, the memory remained perfectly preserved, ready to spring to life the moment someone brought it up.
…Siles hoped that was the case.
As for the rumor Jules mentioned—the statues gazing at the sky and the floating palace—without knowing if it was true or false, Siles could only treat it as an interesting myth.
This world truly was full of bizarre wonders. The Northern Paradise, rotting stars, floating palaces, monsters in the fog, ruined civilizations hidden beneath the sea… He couldn’t help but feel that, in comparison, Lamifa City was like a tiny boat in a stormy sea, struggling to maintain its balance.
No one knew when a massive wave might crash down, overturning the boat and plunging them all into the tempest.
Siles sat quietly for a while before getting up to have lunch in the cafeteria. In the afternoon, his other elective class went smoothly. Once again, no one failed, which was a relief.
In a rare display of warmth, Siles bid his students a gentle goodbye. As they filed out, he stood at the podium packing his things, overhearing several students sighing in despair, worried they would never again encounter a professor as handsome as him.
Siles was speechless. Weren’t these the same students who constantly grumbled behind his back about how much homework he assigned? Why were they suddenly attached to his face? He glanced their way, finding the situation somewhat amusing.
Once most of the students had left, Siles was about to head out when someone approached him. It was Kellogg, the student from the Duchy of Konst Kansas. She was holding a folded piece of paper. Even through the back, Siles could see it was covered in dense handwriting.
“What is it, Kellogg?” Siles asked. “Is there something you don’t understand?”
“No, not at all, Professor.” Kellogg’s command of the local language had improved significantly, and she barely stuttered now. “Do you remember when you asked me about the gods of the Age of Shadows?”
Siles paused slightly. “Yes. The book you recommended helped me quite a bit.”
He still remembered Gods and Believers in the Shadows. The author, Jean Calder, seemed to be joking with the reader for most of the book, but the final four words—the gods that followed—had genuinely startled Siles.
Kellogg looked a little shy, shaking her head quickly. “No, that was just a small booklet.” She handed the paper to Siles. “Professor, I plan to write my graduation thesis on the history of the gods from the Age of Shadows. Because of that, I’ve gathered some reference materials and gotten some help from my advisor. I thought this list of sources might be helpful for your research as well.”
Siles was genuinely surprised. “Thank you, Kellogg. You’ve done me a huge favor.”
Kellogg smiled timidly. “You’ve helped me a lot too, Professor. You gave me my first true friendship after arriving in Lamifa City, and you helped me slowly get to know my classmates.”
Siles thought to himself that, despite her gratitude, Kellogg was the one who had helped him twice now—first with the wandering poet’s work, and now with this bibliography. He wondered if she had specifically chosen this thesis topic because of his previous inquiry.
“After you asked me about the gods of the Age of Shadows, I looked into it more,” Kellogg said, her eyes shining as she unconsciously twirled her braid. “I found out that it’s a fascinating topic. You know, the original reason I wanted to study the history of the Age of Shadows was because of the mystery and the thrill of exploring the unknown. And now, the gods of that era feel like…”
She paused, as if her vocabulary was failing her again. Finally, she settled on: “…the ultimate mystery within the mystery.”
Siles couldn’t help but smile at her description. He thanked her again and wished her the best with her thesis. “Do you remember that travelogue? The one by the explorer from the Duchy of Konst Kansas?”
“I remember,” Kellogg said.
“The translation is finished, and it will be published soon,” Siles said. “Mr. Emmanuel was very diligent.” He felt a pang of sorrow as he said this, but he didn’t want to drag Kellogg into the dark history involving Emmanuel, Alfonso, and the deaths of so many others.
Kellogg let out an excited gasp. “That’s wonderful! Professor, will the treasure map in the travelogue be published too?”
Hearing her mention the treasure map again, Siles felt a sudden oddity. “I heard Emmanuel mention that the book contains a secret regarding the Ashless Land, and that portion won’t be published. But… a treasure map? Kellogg, what treasure map are you talking about?”
Kellogg looked confused. After a moment, she explained, “When I saw the travelogue earlier, there were a few lines where the author mentioned hearing about the location of a treasure map and going to look for it… that was it. The location was written out very clearly, so I assumed…”
Siles froze. “Did the travelogue specify what kind of treasure it was?”
Kellogg thought hard, then murmured, “Some… some city? I forget, Professor. I’m so sorry.”
Siles shook his head. “No, it’s fine.”
He realized he now understood exactly where Emmanuel and Alfonso had gone. He hadn’t read anything about this in the translated manuscript, which meant Emmanuel must have intentionally deleted it during the translation process.
That meant Emmanuel believed this treasure map pointed directly to the “Non-existent City.” They were definitely heading there. Of course, the Stardust vein where Fredman was last seen would also be on their list. They were likely planning a two-pronged approach to cross-verify the two locations.
A treasure map, Siles thought.
The original rumor of the “Non-existent City” stemmed from a cartographical error. People believed there was a mistake on the map, but no one could find it, and that very mistake artificially hid a real city. If that was the case, why would a “treasure map” with a clear route suddenly appear?
Furthermore, at the recent Dawn Revelation Society gathering, the noblewoman mentioned that someone had acquired a map of the Ashless Land older than any existing version—one that likely hid the true location of the “Non-existent City.”
Didn’t that sound exactly like the “treasure map” Kellogg was describing?
But Fredman died last year. How could such a map suddenly surface this year?
To Siles, it reeked of a conspiracy. The fact that Fredman was found covered in wounds and died in agony despite receiving medical help only seemed to confirm his suspicions.
“Professor, is there a problem with the treasure map?” Kellogg asked.
After a brief pause, Siles decided it was best to tell her the truth. That way, she would understand why she still needed to help with a book that had already been translated.
He gave her a general overview of what happened with Emmanuel and Alfonso—nothing too graphic, but enough to explain the situation. He then asked if she could help translate the section about the treasure map and Fredman’s final expedition.
Kellogg gasped in realization. “So right now, Mr. Emmanuel and your friend, the folklore professor, have gone to the Ashless Land to find the treasure?” Even now, she still believed it was a literal treasure.
Siles nodded. “They want to uncover the truth so their companions can rest in peace.”
“Then… what about you?” Kellogg asked softly. “Do you plan to go to the Ashless Land too?”
The question caught Siles off guard. Finally, he said, “I am considering it.”
He needed to investigate and gather more information, but… yes. He planned to go. To the place hiding the secrets of this world. To the place his friends had gone with the resolve to die.
Siles couldn’t say he shared that exact suicidal resolve—he was a cautious man, and the Ashless Land was clearly incredibly dangerous. He knew his limits perfectly well. But he still intended to go, at least to get a feel for the environment. He would treat it like a field trip.
Kellogg nodded. “Please give me the travelogue. I will translate that section as quickly as possible and bring it to you.” She hesitated before adding, “Please be careful, Professor.”
“I will,” Siles promised.
They walked together to Number 6 Hayward Street. Kellogg waited downstairs while Siles went up to grab the travelogue and handed it to her.
“See you at the club tomorrow, Professor,” she said.
Siles nodded. With the semester ending, he hadn’t planned on holding a club meeting this Friday, but Herman Grove was leaving Lamifa City for the Ashless Land on Sunday. They decided to host one last gathering on Friday to see him off. Siles had even specifically asked his two apprentices to prepare extra food and drinks so the members could enjoy themselves.
The weather was gloomy. Siles watched Kellogg leave before heading back inside his apartment. He noticed a large parcel sitting in the first-floor living room with his name on it. Opening it up, he found two massive stacks of paper—at least several thousand sheets, roughly the size of A4 paper from Earth. It was from Benton.
Benton had included a brief note. He had contacted the printing press, and these new papers had already earned a stellar reputation among various publishers and were about to hit the market. This was the final batch of test samples, which Benton had snagged specifically for Siles.
Knowing it was for Siles, Benton had remembered his debut novel, Revenge of the Rose. He specifically asked the printing press to watermark a tiny eight-petaled rose in the bottom right corner of the pages. These sheets were truly one of a kind.
Siles didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but he was genuinely touched by Benton’s earnest gesture. He carried the heavy stacks up to the third floor, storing them neatly under his desk. Pulling out a few sheets, he tested his pen on them and was incredibly satisfied with the quality. Perhaps his next novel would be written entirely on this eight-petaled rose paper.
Siles sat in his room as the rain began to fall outside. By nightfall, it had turned into a torrential downpour. Given the weather, he had no desire to trudge to the cafeteria. Fortunately, he had the foresight to buy some long-lasting bread earlier, so he settled for a simple meal.
His mind was elsewhere, slowly drifting toward the Deep Sea Dream he would visit that night. He wondered how Nona was doing.
Before bed, he mentally organized the information he had on the Ashless Land. A large chunk of it was messy rumors—Fredman’s travelogue, anecdotes from On the Journey, the notebook brought by adventure novelist Arvid Norton, the two maps he had bought, and various other fragments.
If he narrowed the scope specifically to the “Non-existent City,” he only had two concrete clues: the “treasure map” in Fredman’s travelogue, and the Stardust vein where Fredman was last seen, according to the merchant Lanmir.
Both were specific locations he could investigate once he arrived. The latter seemed safer. He would have to ask Lanmir exactly where that vein was. He hoped the merchant would be honest; after all, the vein was fully mined and was now nothing more than an abandoned cave.
Siles sighed heavily at the thought.
At 10:00 PM, he went to sleep right on schedule. Inside the Deep Sea Dream, everything was as usual.
He didn’t dare look up at the rotting stars. He usually didn’t anyway, but tonight, it felt as if an invisible, crushing weight was pressing down on his neck, making it physically impossible to lift his head. The pressure made his neck and shoulders stiffen. He unconsciously reached up to rub the tension away. Don’t think about those things, he warned himself.
He walked over to the solitary sapling on the island. To his disappointment, when he gazed at the water droplet resting on its leaf, no images appeared. Nona wasn’t dreaming right now.
Perhaps she had just escaped and hadn’t had a chance to sleep yet? Or maybe…
He shook his head. Scaring himself with pessimistic thoughts wouldn’t help. He pulled his gaze away from the sapling and thought about what to do in the dreamscape today.
The next time he could naturally enter the Deep Sea Dream wouldn’t be until November 5th and 6th, 21 days from now. According to the university calendar, the new semester wouldn’t have even started by then.
Twenty-one days. The gap felt agonizingly long, but he still didn’t know how to trigger the Deep Sea Dream more frequently.
After a moment’s thought, he decided to visit someone else’s dream. Since his persona as “Mr. Ghost” was meant to travel through dreams and help children solve their problems, he decided to visit another child.
However, he realized that when he visited Nona, he had appeared in his usual tailored suit and leather shoes—not exactly a kid-friendly look.
This was his dreamscape. He immediately thought about changing his appearance. But into what?
He walked to the edge of the island and peered into the water. The reflection staring back at him looked similar to his real-life self, though with subtle, hard-to-place differences. Even though it was undeniably him, he occasionally felt a strange sense of detachment from it.
As he focused, the reflection in the water began to shift. It morphed into a postman carrying a satchel filled with small toys for children, all drawn from his memories of Earth. He marveled at how miraculous it was—he could manifest his thoughts and change his appearance at will here…
…Wait. Change his appearance?
His mind instantly flashed to the Historical Society’s salon space. In the entrance hall of that salon, people could also freely change their appearances. And after changing his appearance here, he was still inside the Deep Sea Dream. In other words, this wasn’t entirely new information.
He stared quietly at his reflection. A moment later, he shook his head. Overthinking it was useless. The salon was built single-handedly by Mr. Xia, and who knew what kind of power Mr. Xia truly possessed?
Pushing those thoughts aside, Siles reached into the seawater to fish for dreams. Sometimes he pulled up magnificent, complex dreamscapes; other times, he saw things that were rather unseemly, forcing him to frown and toss those bubbles back into the sea.
Eventually, he found a child’s dream. It belonged to a boy slightly older than Nona, maybe fourteen or fifteen. Inside the dream bubble, the boy looked miserable, trudging down a long, pitch-black hallway.
One side of the hallway was lined with framed paintings. Most of the canvases were blank, but a few contained chaotic scribbles or random blocks of color. Was the boy studying art? Were these his paintings?
Regardless, this miserable boy’s dream felt like the perfect target for Mr. Ghost.
Without hesitation, he tapped the water droplet. The world spun. When his surroundings stabilized, Mr. Ghost found himself standing in the long hallway, facing the shocked and bewildered boy.
“Good evening, young sir,” Mr. Ghost said politely. “I am a ghost of the dreamscape. I can help you solve your troubles.”
The boy’s shock slowly melted into wariness. “I don’t need any help,” he said stiffly.
“But you are having a nightmare, aren’t you?” Mr. Ghost asked. “Don’t you find pacing endlessly in this dark hallway distressing?”
The boy froze, instinctively glancing at the paintings on the wall. In that split second, Mr. Ghost heard a flurry of disembodied sounds echo through the dream: an old man scolding, a woman crying, heavy footsteps. The sounds vanished as quickly as they came, but the boy’s face turned deathly pale.
“What happened?” Mr. Ghost asked gently.
The boy stared blankly at him before suddenly breaking into quiet sobs. “My grandfather makes me study painting… When I can’t do it, he hits me… My mom can’t stop him… My dad has been gone for years…”
“Study painting?” Mr. Ghost asked.
“Yes,” the boy sniffled. “My grandfather is a painter. He expects me to be one too. But I can’t learn it.”
“So you want to quit?”
“I… I don’t know,” the boy said. “I don’t have the right to decide. He makes me go to a museum all day just to study and observe. It’s driving me crazy. It’s just like this hallway… endless, everyday just like this…” He stared blankly into the distance.
“You should have a serious talk with your mother,” Mr. Ghost advised. “Your grandfather expects you to inherit his legacy; he probably just sees you as a rebellious child. He might listen to your mother’s opinion, though.”
“He won’t listen to her either,” the boy said. “He didn’t like my dad. After my dad left, he disliked us even more… Me, my mom—he doesn’t like any of the three of us.”
Left? Mr. Ghost wondered. Did his father pass away, or did he simply leave home?
The boy crouched on the floor in despair. “Mr. Ghost, is there any way… any way I can escape this life?”
“Are you attending school right now?”
The boy looked up, confused. “School?”
“Middle school,” Mr. Ghost clarified. “At your age, you should be in school. You can learn new things and understand the world.”
“But my grandfather would never agree…”
“Painters shouldn’t work behind closed doors. They need inspiration from the outside world. Go look up the biographies of contemporary painters—many of them attended school,” Mr. Ghost said. “With real examples, your grandfather will have to understand. Though it’s still best to let your mother talk to him.”
The boy sat in a daze for a moment before his face suddenly lit up. “Thank you, Mr. Ghost! I understand now. I just need to show my grandfather the hope that I can become a painter. Whether that hope actually turns me into one or not doesn’t matter!”
Mr. Ghost thought to himself that this sounded a bit like bait-and-switch. Could a boy who actively resisted studying art ever truly become a painter? Highly unlikely. But if it gave the boy the courage to stand up to his stubborn grandfather, it was worth a try. At the very least, he wasn’t looking miserable anymore.
As the boy’s excitement grew, the environment around them began to shift. He was waking up.
“Mr. Ghost, my name is Emil Harrison!” the boy said hurriedly. “Will I ever see you again?”
“Of course,” Mr. Ghost replied. “In 21 days, I will visit your dream again.”
21 days, Emil Harrison mouthed silently.
Mr. Ghost pulled a Rubik’s cube out of his postman’s satchel and handed it to the newly energized boy. “This is a toy called a magic cube. You can twist and turn it. The goal is to make every side a solid, uniform color.”
Emil took it curiously and fiddled with it.
“You can practice with it in your dreams over the next 21 days,” Mr. Ghost said indulgently. “I look forward to seeing your results.”
“I will! Thank you, Mr. Ghost!”
Emil’s dream collapsed shortly after. Mr. Ghost returned to the solitary island, noticing that a new sapling had sprouted in the red soil right next to Nona’s.
He walked over to check Nona’s sapling again, confirming she still wasn’t dreaming. This deepened his worry about her current situation.
But just then, he felt a strange, shifting premonition ripple through the Deep Sea Dream. He couldn’t pinpoint where the feeling came from, but it was undeniable. Even though this dreamscape didn’t fully belong to him, it was still his dream, tethering him to the space with an obscure, mystical connection.
Slowly, he pinpointed the source of the shift. He turned his gaze toward the giant puppet.
The puppet stood silently over the sea as always. Siles’s eyes pierced the fog. The puppet looked exactly the same… and yet…
A second later, he realized what it was.
A thread. One of the spider silk threads bound to the puppet had snapped.
The instant he realized this, Siles jolted awake.
He sat up instinctively, feeling a wave of annoyance. He had originally planned to wait in the Deep Sea Dream all night to see if Nona would eventually sleep. Instead, noticing that one tiny detail had forcefully ejected him from the dreamscape.
Taking a deep breath, Siles lay back down, trying to force himself to sleep and re-enter the dream. But after lying there for a while, he felt completely wide awake. He had a faint premonition that the Deep Sea Dream was temporarily closed to him; he wouldn’t be able to return for a short while.
Siles had no choice but to give up.
He was incredibly worried about Nona. During his last visit, she had mentioned trying to escape the dark room with the others. Did she succeed? Or… did something go wrong?
Whatever the answer, he wouldn’t know for another 21 days until the dreamscape reopened. He wanted to search for her in the real world, but he hadn’t managed to get any identifying clues from her directly.
…No, wait. Siles suddenly paused in thought. He could probe the underground gangs.
Nona was highly likely captured by gang members. If she had successfully escaped, there would inevitably be chaos within the gang. They would be dispatching men to look for her—which meant they would likely check the apartment where Nona and her grandfather used to live. After all, a little girl who just escaped would instinctively try to go home, wouldn’t she?
The gang’s reaction would clearly indicate whether Nona had escaped or not. Furthermore, the gang doctor Nona mentioned was another solid lead.
Siles thought carefully, planning to head to the West City at daybreak… No, wait. He had a meeting at the College of Literature and History this morning.
He just needed to quickly check Nona’s old apartment building to see if the gang had posted guards. It was currently 4:00 AM. He had four hours before his meeting.
Without hesitating, Siles got up, quickly washed his face, changed clothes, and headed out the door. If there were no unexpected delays, he could easily be back before 8:00 AM.
Calculating the time in his head, he stepped out into the freezing, rain-swept pre-dawn darkness and luckily flagged down a horse-drawn cab at the corner of Hayward Street.
“To Logan Market in the West City,” Siles instructed.
The driver looked thrilled. Finding a passenger at this hour was a stroke of incredible luck. “Right away, sir! We’ll leave immediately.”
On the way, Siles pondered what had forced him out of the dream. One of the spider threads on the puppet had snapped—was it because a new sapling appeared on the island? If so, what would happen when enough saplings grew strong and broke all the threads?
Would Akamara resurrect?
Siles strongly resisted that idea. It wasn’t just the natural opposition between mortals and gods, nor was it his identity as a transmigrator from another world. He simply hated unpredictable outcomes. He had no idea what the old god would do if she resurrected.
The rotting stars in the dreamscape were obviously dangerous, but who could guarantee the giant puppet was safe? Siles certainly couldn’t.
He silently resolved that until he figured out the truth behind the puppet and the threads, he couldn’t let them all snap. It was highly likely they were part of a mutual restraint system between two deities. As a human, he lacked the power to intervene, so he couldn’t afford to act recklessly.
He could only hope that the puppet was merely a manifestation of Akamara’s pure power and not her active consciousness.
The pre-dawn streets were entirely empty, save for the occasional street sweeper. As a result, the trip to the West City was remarkably fast. Siles arrived at Logan Market forty minutes later. He felt a bit hungry, but he was in no mood to eat.
At 5:30 AM, he arrived at the run-down apartment building he had visited once before. It was eerily quiet. The residents were still asleep, and there were no guards posted anywhere.
He circled the building once, then closed his umbrella and quietly climbed the stairs. Nona’s apartment was on the third floor. The hallways and stairwells were completely empty.
Eventually, Siles walked out of the building empty-handed. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.
By now, shops around Logan Market were beginning to open. Siles didn’t want to eat anything in the West City, knowing it was all produced by Grayson Food Company. After some thought, he walked over to Number 13 Milford Street. As expected, he could already hear the sounds of conversation and morning routines coming from the first-floor rooms.
He knocked on the door.
Eric Collens answered, staring in surprise at the freezing man standing outside. “Siles! You came to the West City this early?”
Siles nodded. “I’m returning empty-handed.”
Eric froze, his expression turning serious. “What happened? Is this about the Historical Society? I heard…”
“No, it’s not that,” Siles shook his head. “Are you talking about my research project? Don’t worry, that’s in the past. Having someone else take over honestly makes my life a little easier anyway.”
Eric frowned deeply, feeling indignant on Siles’s behalf. “That’s just too much. They basically robbed you of your own project!”
Siles didn’t deny it. “There will be opportunities to get back at them in the future.” He shifted the topic. “I came here today regarding Nona Norrison.”
Eric looked blank for a moment before remembering the name. “The gatekeeper’s granddaughter?”
“Yes,” Siles nodded. “I received a tip that she was locked up by an underground gang and is currently trying to escape. I was hoping you could keep an eye on the gang’s movements for me.”
“Understood. I’ll watch out for it,” Eric agreed instantly. He didn’t even question where Siles had gotten the tip. This unreserved trust brought a trace of warmth to Siles’s heart.
“Nona Norrison… She’s even younger than my daughter,” Eric sighed. “It feels like none of the cases we’ve run into lately have had good endings…”
“We can only do our best,” Siles said softly.
Eric nodded in agreement.
Siles thanked him and said his goodbyes. The sky was gradually brightening, and the rain had lightened slightly. He closed his umbrella and took a carriage back to Lamifa University. It was barely seven o’clock.
He grabbed breakfast at the cafeteria, finally feeling a bit more comfortable. Because his hair had gotten somewhat wet, he returned to his dorm to towel off before rushing straight to the main castle, walking into the first-floor meeting hall.
Several professors were already seated inside. Spotting Professor Bright, Siles went over and sat next to him.
“Good morning, Siles,” Professor Bright said, looking him up and down. “You look like a cat caught in the rain. Your hair is completely soaked.”
