From this letter, written in a strictly businesslike tone, Siles learned that Professor Calverley had passed away due to illness at three o’clock in the morning on November 7th—yesterday morning.
Professor Calverley’s health had never been particularly good to begin with. With Lamifa City’s prolonged rainy season and bitter winter this year, his physical condition declined rapidly, leading to his regretful demise shortly thereafter.
Before his death, he had revised his will. He bequeathed his noble title to his sister’s son, divided his financial assets equally among his brothers and sisters, and split his book collection into various portions, one of which was gifted to Siles.
This came as an immense surprise to Siles.
He had only met Professor Calverley twice; although they got along pleasantly, their relationship could hardly be called deep. Perhaps Professor Calverley simply needed a young man to inherit a portion of his unfulfilled aspirations.
This brought an unbidden sigh from Siles.
Professor Calverley’s funeral was scheduled for Tuesday afternoon, and a formal invitation was enclosed within the envelope. Siles felt fortunate that he happened to be free during that time frame.
Baker Bank was currently taking inventory of the books on the list. The instructions in the letter indicated that Siles could head to the bank next week to complete the formalities, after which he would officially own that vast collection of books.
The grand total was around one hundred volumes. The envelope included a book list, and upon glancing over it, Siles immediately discovered quite a few titles that sparked his interest.
Deeply grateful for Professor Calverley’s deathbed gift, he couldn’t help but ponder whether there was anything he could do for the late professor in return. Unable to think of anything for the moment, he held the thought in his heart.
Afterward, he noted down both Professor Calverley’s funeral and the inheritance of the book collection in his notebook.
Tomorrow was Monday, and he had to prepare his lesson plans; Tuesday morning held his specialized elective, followed by the funeral in the afternoon; Wednesday morning brought his meeting with Grenfield, with a public elective in the afternoon; Thursday morning was reserved for his meeting with his apprentice, followed by a public elective in the afternoon; Friday morning meant his specialized elective, with the club activity scheduled for the afternoon…
As for the weekend, it went without saying—it was already packed.
Counting it on his fingers, his schedule for the coming week was crammed to capacity.
While taking a bath, Siles couldn’t help but think that, although the Ashless Lands were dangerous enough, those two weeks he spent there truly qualified as a vacation by comparison.
After washing up, Siles wrapped himself in a heavy coat, retrieved Professor Cabel’s manuscript from the cabinet, sat down behind the desk, and began to flip through it quietly.
Professor Cabel’s manuscript thoroughly embodied the professor’s signature “madness.” The overall work appeared chaotic and filthy, and the cover felt greasy and fleshy to the touch, making Siles suspect it might have been crafted from the hide of some animal.
The pages inside looked as though they had been loosely stitched to the cover with needle and thread at random; they were quite flimsy and threatened to fall apart at the slightest misstep. The paper itself was relatively refined, heavy, and elegant, though it had turned yellow and wrinkled with age, suggesting it had been in use for quite a piece of time.
Siles spent a considerable amount of time reading through its contents. Since he was already fairly familiar with Professor Cabel’s life story, he could grasp the true meaning behind most of the manuscript, though he inevitably encountered obscure and baffling passages.
That obscurity arose not merely from the word choice and phrasing, but also from the subtext lurking between the lines. Professor Cabel clearly possessed knowledge of certain hidden tales unknown to Siles, and thus, when writing this manuscript, he carried a neurotic, erratic, and delirious quality in his prose.
Setting aside the sense of unreliability conveyed by the messy handwriting and chaotic wording, Siles felt he ought to re-examine Professor Cabel’s core nature. He was indeed a scholar of literary history and one with quite profound accomplishments at that.
Lurking behind those casually jotted sentences was an exceptionally cautious, rigorous, and near-manic devotion to seeking the truth.
What drove Professor Cabel down this path was an experience from his youth.
Just as Siles knew, Professor Cabel’s family was involved in the trade of reselling cultural relics. Even in this era, it remained a gray area, one looked down upon by others.
From this manuscript, Siles could not discern Professor Cabel’s attitude toward his family’s line of work. The manuscript began during young Cabel’s student days; the early entries were extremely sketchy and casual, merely recording significant events he encountered in his life.
Among them was a mention that young Cabel had once met an explorer from the Ashless Lands. The latter brought items gathered from his adventures to sell at Cabel’s family shop.
While waiting to settle the payment, he exchanged a few words with Cabel.
In the manuscript, Professor Cabel did not write explicitly about this conversation. He merely wrote one sentence heavily, pressing down hard with his pen: “A young child like you must surely want to get to the very bottom of the truth, right?
“However, we cannot do it. This world cannot do it. We are believers covered by shadows.”
That sentence left a profound impression on Professor Cabel. He underlined the word “shadows” numerous times.
Whether driven by youthful arrogance or provoked by such crude reverse psychology, Professor Cabel abandoned his family’s lucrative resale trade after that moment and decided to begin his own academic career.
Because the initial sentence that provoked him mentioned “shadows,” Professor Cabel constantly searched for clues related to “shadows,” both during his time as a student and after his graduation.
It was evident that for a time he intended to research the literature of the Age of Shadows but ultimately chose to give it up. He believed these two instances of “shadows” were fundamentally different.
He had also attempted to use his family’s connections to locate the explorer he had chanced upon in his youth, yet met with no success. His family members, aware of his desire to find this explorer, tried to persuade him that the man had likely died in the treacherous Ashless Lands.
Those words failed to make Professor Cabel give up; instead, they rendered him increasingly obsessed and fanatical about the Ashless Lands.
After graduating, Professor Cabel continued searching for the clues he desired while assisting his family.
On occasion, he managed to acquire manuscripts or ancient records originating from the Ashless Lands. These enriched his knowledge while gradually… mysteriously steering his outlook toward another extreme.
For unknown reasons, Professor Cabel possessed a deep, heavy paranoia regarding the word “shadow.”
When Siles first arrived in this world, he had obtained a manuscript left behind by Professor Cabel. In one corner of that page, words like “shadow,” “madness,” and “silence” were written all over.
In this manuscript spanning a vast period of time, Professor Cabel mentioned the word “shadow” with ever-increasing frequency. He appeared to personify “shadow.” It seemed like a mastermind behind the scenes, like a person, or… like a deity.
Perhaps it was precisely because of this that he turned his attention to Hoodoka. After all, Hoodoka’s divine title was “the shadow side of the world.”
In the Ashless Lands, where countless secrets lay concealed, people spread innumerable rumors—some true, some false—yet always capable of causing believers to believe more firmly and doubters to doubt more deeply. Professor Cabel, right from the start, believed implicitly in certain parts of them.
In his nineties—or rather, when he was in his nineties of life’s decades, specifically his mid-forties—he encountered another explorer from the Ashless Lands. That occurred roughly ten-plus years ago. The manuscript did not record the details or contents of that meeting in depth.
Regardless, he seemed to have learned some insider information. He wrote excitedly in the manuscript: “They are indeed one and the same!” “A fountain pen beyond its era has written a maxim beyond its era.”
It was precisely because this meeting brought up the fountain pen that, seven years ago, Professor Cabel exhibited such mad, fierce behavior upon seeing the fountain pen displayed by Alfonso Carte.
And it was also the appearance of that fountain pen that made Professor Cabel suddenly realize he had been working behind closed doors for far too long. He needed to publish his discoveries and achievements to the world.
He became a professor at Lamifa University and began consolidating his research findings around this time.
It was also at this juncture that he discovered that despite being so certain his theory was correct and flawless, he lacked direct evidence to prove it.
He tried drafting a simpler paper and submitting it to a journal publisher in Lamifa City, only to receive a deeply contemptuous response. Enraged, he burned the paper and spoke of it to no one, merely recording the incident in his manuscript.
Thus, he began searching for more evidence. Thus, he made the acquaintance of Assistant Mervyn. Thus, they began searching for materials related to the fall of Hoodoka. Thus, they ventured into the Ashless Lands, where they ultimately met their demise.
According to this manuscript, Professor Cabel and Assistant Mervyn indeed located the stronghold of those followers of the Old Gods and successfully gained the latter’s trust. However, it was impossible for them to truly join the enemy’s grand scheme.
Consequently, when the followers of the Old Gods intended to bring the Temple of Belan to the House of Hales, they casually executed Professor Cabel and Assistant Mervyn along the way.
Deducing from the contents of this manuscript, Professor Cabel had likely foreseen such an outcome long ago. He even stated that to reach this place, to read these materials, and to complete his own theory meant he could die with no regrets.
…The more Siles read this manuscript, the more he experienced a subtle, complex mood.
On one hand, he felt a degree of approval toward Professor Cabel’s near-paranoid academic drive to uncover the truth; on the other hand, he felt that while Professor Cabel was peering into the abyss, he himself had been tainted by the darkness of that very abyss.
Which was why, in the end, he could welcome death with such composure.
Perhaps to Professor Cabel at that moment, death was already inevitable. He was fully aware of it himself. The closer he drew to the truth, the more he was enveloped by the gloom of that truth.
Setting aside such reflections, what Siles valued far more was, naturally, Professor Cabel’s “theory.”
Or rather, his perspective on the “truth” of history.
In this manuscript, Professor Cabel did not explicitly write out the full content of his theory, but judging from the inclinations between the lines and his admiration and dread toward “shadow,” Siles could roughly grasp his line of thinking.
He seemed to believe that Hoodoka was devoured by the “shadow.” And the result of that meeting between Hoodoka and Menavaca was that both deities were devoured by the “shadow.”
…This conclusion appeared somewhat whimsical, yet Siles could not simply attribute it to Professor Cabel’s madness.
The problem lay in Professor Cabel’s meeting with that mysterious explorer ten-plus years ago.
“They are indeed one and the same.” “A fountain pen beyond its era has written a maxim beyond its era.”
…What was a “maxim beyond its era”?
It could be said that Professor Cabel sank entirely into an almost irredeemable madness only after that meeting.
Two explorers. The one encountered in his youth set Cabel upon an unknown path; the one met in his later years pushed Cabel onto a dead end.
Siles let out a sigh and closed the manuscript.
The shadow devoured Hoodoka and Menavaca. From a certain perspective, that aligned quite well with the state of affairs after the Age of Shadows, when deities fell one after another. But what was the “shadow”?
Everything circled right back to the name of this mysterious era.
Siles suddenly remembered that at the end of the previous semester, Kellogg had given him a book list of materials related to the deities of the Age of Shadows. He had been occupied with other matters ever since and hadn’t found time to carefully review the relevant books.
Perhaps this matter ought to be placed on his agenda. He thought.
…Naturally, after he managed through the affairs of this coming week.
He jotted down a note in his notebook, then placed Professor Cabel’s manuscript back into the cabinet. Realizing his small study was truly becoming insufficient for his needs, he let out a head-aching sigh.
The good news was that he could store his books over at his boyfriend’s place; the bad news was that his boyfriend seemed to be eagerly itching to cohabit with him… which wasn’t truly bad news, either.
It was simply that Siles was reserved and reticent by nature and was constantly held back by the force of habit.
He stood up, stretched his limbs, and checked the time, noticing it was nearly ten o’clock. Deciding promptly, he washed up and climbed into bed. The frigid bed gave him the sensation of lying inside an icehouse.
Fortunately, the power of Akamara continued to grant him protection, allowing him to drift smoothly into dreamland once more.
Rising the next morning, Siles sneezed. Feeling a slight ache in his throat, he boiled some hot water. After drinking it, he felt much better and paid the matter no further mind.
Chendo happened to arrive at that moment, so they went to eat breakfast together.
“Your voice sounds a little raspy,” Chendo said. “Keep yourself warm.”
“I’m already taking care,” Siles said in a low voice.
Chendo pondered for a moment, then suggested, “Heating your apartment still isn’t quite convenient. Perhaps we could buy a heating stove?”
Open-flame heating. Siles thought to himself.
The cautious Earthling felt that was far too dangerous. Moreover, his study was filled with so many paper documents; a single stray spark could bring total disaster upon his research.
He thus stated, “If it snows in Lamifa City, then perhaps I really ought to buy a stove. Right now, however, it doesn’t seem necessary yet.”
Chendo did not look particularly agreeable.
By then, however, Siles had already shifted the topic. He mentioned the matter regarding Professor Calverley, as well as his gains after reading Professor Cabel’s manuscript last night.
Chendo glanced at Siles, having no choice but to skip that issue for now.
He was also somewhat surprised by the manner in which Professor Calverley’s estate was distributed, remarking, “Perhaps it’s because that professor believed that by entrusting these books to you, he could rest easy.
“After all, others might not enjoy reading books or collecting them as much as you do.”
Siles hesitated briefly before simply saying, “Perhaps.”
Perhaps that was truly the case. Or perhaps Siles simply happened to appear during the final stretch of Professor Calverley’s life journey. He had unwittingly accompanied him for a piece of the road—perhaps even the final piece.
Recalling that lonely figure sitting in a wheelchair within the underground library… Siles ultimately couldn’t help but sigh.
Shifting the conversation to the other professor—Professor Cabel—his sighing thoughts did not cease, growing even stronger instead.
Siles said, “I feel that this world, and the people within it, are covered by a certain shadow. Not a physical shadow that truly exists, nor a specific deity, but an intangible shadow.”
On Earth, even if people grew curious about past history and literature, they could thoroughly—and safely—consult past records without fear of pollution or shadows lurking within the written words.
In this world, however, the situation was vastly different. Professor Cabel could hardly be called qualified in his teaching, yet he had traveled very far along the path of a scholar.
Even so, he ultimately succumbed to his own mania, regarded by everyone as a “crazy old man,” before dying within a darkness he himself considered serene and devoid of regret.
Siles, however, could not necessarily agree with his lack of regrets.
“I agree completely with your thoughts,” Chendo said softly. “You might not fully understand the education I once received… deities seemed to be the sole purpose for my family’s existence.
“…No, rather, the sole purpose of the Praia family’s existence was to wait for the appearance of an Old God’s Scion.”
Siles said, “That is not incomprehensible.” He paused, then added, “It is understandable, yet I do not agree with it.”
Chendo nodded. Idly playing with his spoon, he looked as though he was already full, yet he patiently waited for Siles. He continued, “Which is why I still address Ligadia in a very calm tone even now.
“I cannot say… He is like my ancestor… That feels far too strange, and it’s something I cannot accept. My family considers this bloodline an honor, but I do not necessarily view it that way.”
He let out a satirical laugh.
Then, gazing intently at Siles once more, he added, “Of course, you are different.”
Siles looked at him with slight confusion. Truth be told, even though Chendo seemed to treat him as a deity he believed in, Siles had no real sense of it. He felt Chendo’s inner mind was contradictory.
He preferred that the “deity and believer” Chendo spoke of referred to the romantic relationship between them, rather than a literal… relationship like that of an Old God and an Old God’s follower.
“Why?” Siles asked.
“You are different from the Old Gods—completely different. That makes me willingly believe in your existence.” Chendo chuckled softly, adding, “Furthermore, I also want very much to… with you…”
He almost subconsciously licked his lips.
Afterward, those emerald green eyes looked at Siles meaningfully as he said, “I am no truly pious ascetic. My faith carries personal feelings.”
“Personal feelings,” Siles repeated the phrase in a low voice, a subtle smile surfacing unbidden. He suddenly realized he quite liked that way of putting it, at least when spoken by Chendo.
Chendo complained discontentedly, “Can’t you give me a bit of a reaction?”
“A reaction where?” Siles asked in return.
With that, he stood up and cleared his food tray.
Chendo sat there dumbfounded, staring blankly up at Siles, barely able to process it. After a moment, he coughed uncomfortably and put on a calm front, saying, “Any reaction you want is fine.”
…The Earthling mocked his vulnerability in his heart.
Siles said nonchalantly, “It’s time to go.”
Gazing at his cold, composed face, Chendo’s mood suddenly plummeted, and he grumbled indignantly, “Keep teasing me! One day…”
Siles couldn’t help but chuckle, reaching out to tug lightly at the braid woven from Chendo’s ash-white hair. He suddenly realized that this braid brought him quite a bit of amusement. The good news was that there were few people in the dining hall, and sitting in the corner, no one would notice their back-and-forth interactions.
So Siles said, “Time to head back, Chendo.”
“…Fine, fine,” Chendo muttered, then said with full conviction, “But you have to give me a kiss once we get back.”
“Why?”
“Compensation.”
“Compensation for what?”
“For teasing me and tossing me aside.”
“I didn’t toss you aside.”
“Then you must…”
Chendo turned his head, about to say something, but Siles kissed him directly, then said calmly, “Alright. Let’s go, Chendo; there are still many affairs to attend to today.”
Chendo froze for a moment, then couldn’t help but burst into a smile. He said, “You are so wonderful.”
Siles couldn’t help but laugh softly.
They returned to No. 6 Hayward Street. Lorenzo was not in, unaware if he had gone to class. With Professor Dunlop absent for this entire semester, Lorenzo would likely be exceedingly busy.
Siles settled his mind quickly to review the contents of his lesson plans. He had already prepared the course material for this semester’s specialized elective during the previous term; moreover, his two public electives remained the same two from last term, which saved him an immense amount of preparation time.
Naturally, he still needed to revise the lesson plans. For last term’s course, A Literary Overview from the Age of Divine Birth to the Age of Mist, he had relied on the lesson plans left behind by Professor Cabel, but from Siles’s perspective, much of the structural arrangement was worth refining.
Fortunately, while teaching last term, he had already recorded his inspirations and thoughts; now he merely needed to organize them step by step.
Occasionally, he would treat Chendo as a student sitting below the podium, imitating his teaching demeanor to present the lesson plans before and after modification, asking Chendo about their respective effects. Chendo would offer his opinions quite objectively as well.
Of course, more often than not, Chendo would simply say, “Just standing there makes me dizzy with infatuation; I’d gladly listen to anything you lecture on.”
Siles: “…”
He looked at this rather disobedient “student.”
Chendo laughed and said, “Looking like that, you are truly mouth-watering… ah, meaning I am utterly drooling over you.”
Siles was silent for a moment, then leaned down to kiss him. After a short pause, he asked, “Still drooling?”
Pinned against the sofa by Siles, Chendo panted softly, his voice raspy as he said, “I wish you would… me right now…”
Siles looked down at him with lowered eyes. The winter cold seemed to be barred outside this room at this very moment.
He let out a low laugh and said, “That depends on how hard you work.”
Chendo froze for a moment.
Siles had already released him, sitting back behind the desk to continue flipping through his lesson plans.
Chendo snapped back to his senses abruptly, pressing, “Does that count as you relenting?” He looked at Siles with eyes full of expectation.
Interrupted in his recitation, Siles let out a quiet sigh and said, “Minus one.”
“What?”
“Points.”
“What points?”
“The points that will allow you to achieve your wish.”
Chendo stared blankly for a moment, then said with a touch of indignation, “How can you bring that strict attitude from your classes into bed?” He had already heard Siles explain his methods for dealing with students.
Siles glanced at him and asked, “Don’t want me to be strict?”
Chendo fell into a contemplation completely unexpected by Siles. After a short pause, he said, “If it’s you, it’s not impossible.”
Siles: “…”
What is not impossible?
The Earthling felt that he sometimes couldn’t grasp the boundaries of people in this era, at least when it came to Chendo.
Setting aside such talking-past-each-other banter, the atmosphere throughout Monday remained relatively relaxed. Siles roughly memorized and practiced his lesson plans for the next week or two.
Chendo’s presence didn’t truly disturb him. After all, even when he worked alone in the past, he would occasionally allow himself a break. Chendo merely transformed those breaks into conversations between lovers.
As night fell, Chendo bade farewell to Siles. He added, “Perhaps tomorrow I can rent that house, and then I’ll move over there. It will be much more convenient for us to meet after that. However, that landlord seems to have no intention of selling the property; he rejected the proposal very firmly.”
Siles nodded in understanding, feeling a slight regret, though his desire for that house wasn’t overwhelmingly strong either, so he said, “Then we can look for other suitable houses later on.”
“Of course, I’ll listen to you,” Chendo said softly. He hesitated briefly, then leaned over, kissed Siles very gently, and said, “See you in a couple of days.”
“See you in a couple of days,” Siles said.
Chendo let out a sigh and said, “I am missing you already.”
Siles gave him a hug, after which Chendo departed.
After Chendo left, the subtle smile on Siles’s face slowly faded. He stood in the room for a moment, then shook his head lightly, warning himself not to spend all day thinking about romance.
Chendo had shared dinner with Siles before leaving. Thus, by the time Siles finished washing up, the time was around eight o’clock.
Siles utilized the evening to organize the content of his paper, read the newspaper, and went to sleep around ten o’clock. The next morning, he stepped punctually into the specialized elective classroom on the second floor of Lamifa University’s main castle.
“Good morning,” he greeted the students.
After a winter break, the students appeared largely unchanged. They also offered a “Good morning” to Siles, looking at him with a hint of nervousness.
…Because, true to Professor Noel’s style, he was accustomed to assigning homework during the very first class of the term.
Some students wore expressions of bracing for the worst.
Siles remained unmoved, simply stating, “After last term’s course, you all surely know what we will be studying this semester—Conan Fremont. Once a devout believer, later a literary master.”
Those words caused the students to snap to attention. At their core, they were all fanatical believers in literature. Regarding Conan Fremont, they had long been deeply curious.
Annette Melvin, ever the stellar student, murmured with bright spirits in a low voice, “I’ve already read your paper many times over!”
Sensing the subtle commotion in the classroom, Siles couldn’t help but smile slightly. He said, “There are not many scholars who research this writer, so you likely won’t be able to find extensive materials.
“However, that is by no means a bad thing. For only when one personally reads a work can one truly understand where its value lies.”
His words brought the classroom to a sudden silence, as the students instantly grasped what Siles meant by that.
“The Life of a Man Named Conan Fremont,” Siles said. “Currently, the library preserves the preface, Volume 1, Volume 5, and Volume 12.
“You will need to complete reading these sections during this semester and write a reading reflection of no less than two thousand words—a point I already mentioned during class last term.”
The students exchanged glances.
On one hand, having only one reading reflection was great; on the other hand, they needed to read all the preserved volumes rather than select excerpts required by the professor… which sounded a bit painful.
Siles continued, “Furthermore, considering that you already wrote a final term paper last semester, I will not require you to write a final term paper this semester.”
The students suddenly let out a massive sigh of relief. Yet hearing Siles continue to speak, that breath was held right back up.
Siles said, “A group project.” Looking at the bewildered and innocent gazes of the students below the podium, he suddenly felt a slight flicker of guilt, though the feeling vanished in a flash.
He continued, “Form groups of three to five people. You will need to collaborate to complete a class summary of at least six thousand words and present a report at the end of the term. You may choose from several topics I will provide.
“You have one week to decide on your group formations. Please hand in your group lists during next Friday’s class, at which time I will distribute the different topics.
“Finally, your attendance, the grade on your reading reflection, and the grade on your group project will jointly constitute your final grade for this semester.”
The classroom abruptly sank into a dead silence.
Siles happened to catch Miss Angela Clayton’s expression of wanting to cry without tears, making him fall silent in his heart for a moment.
He wondered: Did universities in the Fisher World really lack group projects? A university life without group projects was incomplete, truly.
Actively brushing the matter aside as if nothing had happened, he formally began his lecture.
For the first class of the new term, he did not dive straight into knowledge regarding Conan Fremont, merely reviewing last term’s course content briefly while delivering an in-depth lecture on the literary theories of the Age of Silence.
He made special mention of character construction theories in novels from the Age of Silence.
Novels in this world only truly began to develop after the fall of the deities in the Age of Silence. However, the subsequent development could be described as advancing by leaps and bounds. Once the shackles were removed, humanity indulged itself in fictional prose to express the self to their hearts’ content.
These works existed in vast quantities, among which优秀 and outstanding literary pieces were by no means lacking. Contemporary scholars of Age of Silence literature would dedicate most of their time to these works.
Characterization was naturally a focus of intense interest, a vital component of literary theory, and an unavoidable subject.
Siles continued speaking in his iconic, flat, and serene voice: “Among the mature novelistic works of the Age of Silence, the contemplation regarding characters in some of them reached a deeply profound level, reaching philosophical heights, so to speak.
“Writers divided their characters into three layers. The first layer is the motive spoken aloud by the character; the second layer is the motive unsaid by the character, yet undeniably present in their subconscious—a strange existence that stands directly opposite to their surface motive.
“The third layer is an inexplicable motive belonging to the human self. They act in such a manner because they need to ‘be known,’ because they need to express themselves ‘candidly.’”
The students listened in fascination. One student couldn’t resist asking, “Why would such a motive appear at the center of the human self?”
“This question can be answered from another perspective,” Siles said, pausing briefly before asking, “Why do believers believe in deities?”
The students were stunned, failing to understand why Siles would suddenly bring up faith.
Siles said meaningfully, “Because they see themselves within the deities.”
“Projection of the self…?” Siles heard a student murmur softly.
He thought that, at their core, human beings were precisely such self-centered creatures with a desire for expression. At their core, humans reflected themselves through both literature and deities.
And the deities?
What could be the shadow covering those deities?
Siles kept a constant eye on the time. Dismissing class right on the mark, he hurried to the dining hall for lunch, then left the school to take a hired carriage to the central cathedral of the Church of the Past.
Funerals in this era were still customarily held in churches. Given the attributes of the Church of the Past and Antinam regarding “the past” and “history,” the conduct of a funeral carried an extra touch of the “what is past is gone” atmosphere.
However, holding a funeral in the central cathedral was quite a rare privilege. Presumably, only nobles or devout believers could receive such treatment after death.
Stepping into death under the gaze of Antinam.
When Siles arrived, people were in the process of entering. Realizing he was not late, he let out a breath of relief. He wore a deep black suit topped with a heavy coat. It was neither raining nor snowing today, yet the cold wind blew, scattering fallen leaves across the ground.
He merged into the crowd, walking quietly into the church. The coffin rested in the center, toward the front of the nave. Archbishop Grosvenor stood there with a solemn expression, reciting the eulogy in a low voice. Not far off, Commander Bunyan stood quietly in his armor.
The atmosphere was deeply oppressive. Looking from afar, Siles saw many elderly people standing or seated near the front. Most had silver-white hair, and some were even in wheelchairs. Their expressions were exceptionally heavy, carrying a dead, silent stillness that bordered on blankness.
Siles guessed those were Professor Calverley’s friends. Professor Calverley had mentioned one or two of them before. They were similar in age, and Professor Calverley’s passing made them realize that death was already close at hand for them as well.
Their family members accompanied them. Siles spotted his apprentice, Dorothea Grant. He froze briefly, realizing that Little Cynthia’s World, gifted to him by Professor Calverley, had indeed come from Dorothea’s grandfather, Adolphus Grant.
Adolphus was currently sitting in a wheelchair, his face looking exceedingly unwell. He appeared very frail, coughing every so often. Dorothea held a tight frown, gazing at the old gentleman with worry.
Siles withdrew his gaze, letting out a helpless sigh. Birth, old age, sickness, and death—whichever it was, each was a deeply heavy topic.
The funeral proceeded within this silent atmosphere. Siles could occasionally hear a word or two of conversation, but aside from that, there was total silence. That silence seeped into the very bones of everyone present, bringing to mind a dead, silent winter snowfield gleaming with white light.
When the funeral ended and the coffin was lifted by attendants to be transported to the outskirts for burial, Siles even felt he heard the guests let out a collective sigh of relief.
The subsequent burial process did not require the guests to attend; only family members needed to follow. Siles noticed that Professor Calverley had several brothers and sisters, though there seemed to be few in the generation after that.
Most maintained an elegant yet detached expression. Regarding Professor Calverley’s death, they could hardly be called heartbroken, yet neither could they be called excited. They were merely fulfilling their duties dutifully.
By contrast, it was those sitting in the front row—Professor Calverley’s friends—who appeared far more sorrowful and dejected.
The guests departed the church one after another. Siles intended to greet Dominic and the other investigators from the Church of the Past, so he did not rush to leave. As Dorothea and her grandfather were leaving, she happened to spot Siles and couldn’t help but say, “Hello, Professor.”
Adolphus Grant raised his head to look at Siles upon hearing this. His rather stern, gloomy eyes lingered on Siles for a moment before he seemed to realize something, stating, “You are Professor Siles Noel?”
“I am, Mr. Grant,” Siles replied.
Adolphus let out an “mm,” hesitated for a moment, and said, “You may come visit me in a while. Of course, that doesn’t mean I agree with your viewpoints; it is merely because you are my granddaughter’s professor, after all.”
Siles was slightly taken aback, then smiled faintly and said, “I will. Thank you for the invitation.”
Dorothea seemed to have a slight issue with Adolphus’s attitude, though in the end she said nothing, turning instead to say, “See you Thursday, Professor.”
“See you Thursday.” Siles nodded, watching them depart.
He noticed a light rain had begun to fall outside. Stunned for a moment, he thought of how Professor Calverley would be buried in such weather, and an aching sympathy stirred in his heart.
He also happened to run into Antonia Cuming. Ms. Cuming wore a solemn women’s suit, quite a rare sight in this era. She exchanged a few words in low tones with Siles, both of them offering mutual sighs over Professor Calverley’s death.
Afterward, they bade each other farewell.
After a short while, when all the remaining guests had left, Siles walked up to the front of the nave.
Grosvenor stood there with a gentle smile, saying warmly, “Professor Noel.”
“Good afternoon, Archbishop, Commander Bunyan,” Siles said in a low voice. “What a cold winter it is.”
“Indeed,” a look of genuine reflection surfaced on Grosvenor’s face. “The churches in Lamifa City already have queues waiting for funerals these past few days. And winter has only just begun.”
Funerals… queuing up? Siles felt a wave of helplessness.
Shifting the subject, he said, “Is Dominic here? I have some information I’d like to communicate with him regarding the Greyson incident on the eve of the Divine Birth Day.”
Commander Bunyan, standing to the side, said, “He is in his office.”
Siles nodded.
Grosvenor said with great warmth, “You have helped us immensely, Professor Noel.”
Siles once again felt a slight discomfort due to this overly warm, friendly attitude. He couldn’t help but pause briefly before stating, “I am a resident of Lamifa City as well; it is only what I ought to do.”
Commander Bunyan then said, “Professor Noel, let me take you to find Dominic.”
Siles thanked him softly and left alongside him.
Leaving Grosvenor standing there quietly, who then let out a helpless sigh. Gazing toward the statue of Antinam, he whispered after a moment, “My Lord… I am truly a rather unqualified helper.”
