Krafft's Anomaly Notes

Chapter 396 Side Story: Another Worldline [4]

"Oh, I'm sorry, that was very presumptuous of me."

Before Jerome could figure out how to decline, Raymond apologized, seemingly realizing that there was a potential problem with his impromptu idea.

His gaze shifted from the stack of manuscripts, and he patted the young cultivator on the shoulder quite naturally, not minding that his curiosity had not been satisfied.

"Times have changed. Results that have not been made public should not be shown to others casually."

"I have been away from Tun Ling for too long, and I have been busy with worldly affairs. I have become somewhat oblivious to things at the academy. If I have made any mistakes, please remind me directly so that I can correct them and not let any resentment arise in my heart."

Jerome felt quite embarrassed by this frank attitude, as if he had become a narrow-minded person who speculated about others' thoughts based on personal interests.

Thinking about the series of doubts that had just crossed my mind, I felt even more ashamed, as I had violated the Father's teaching that "believe in all things and do not judge others."

"It's nothing important," he said with an awkward smile, explaining his work as "I've been entrusted to organize the heritage of various surnames and territories in your parish, to trace the origins of their bloodlines."

"As you know, some families have such complicated kinship relationships after several generations that I haven't been able to sort them out yet. It will take at least a few days."

"Thank you for your hard work. Compiling a family genealogy is related to the maintenance of secular order, and it is no small matter."

Raymond acknowledged the value of his work but showed little interest. He offered a few words of encouragement and then took his leave, reminding him to rest well that night and avoid wandering around or breaking any taboos.

Jerome was deeply moved. It was the first time he had ever felt that he and his profession were being valued, for the Dean himself had come to offer his condolences and acknowledge the significance of historical and literary work.

Compared to leaving a note on the table for people to go there on their own, the people of Tun Ling are so much more humane.

In a good mood, Jerome had a big appetite and couldn't resist having a couple of bites of a late-night snack before he felt sleepy.

Remembering Raymond's parting words, he abandoned his idea of ​​going out for a stroll, stuffed the manuscript under his pillow, blew out the candle, and prepared to go to bed.

Several rapid footsteps passed by the door and stopped nearby, interspersed with fast-paced, interrupting arguments. It seemed that the professors and lecturers from the medical school had not had enough fun in the lecture hall and had taken their unfinished topics from the restaurant to their residences, where they continued their heated debate in the corridor.

One has to admire the open-mindedness of the White Tower Monastery; when they discussed certain matters that would lead to execution at the Pentecostal Church, they made no attempt to lower their voices. Keywords that would spark the courtroom's imaginations echoed in the corridors and were clearly audible even in the rooms.

Aside from research, the most frequently mentioned figure is the monastery's master, the renowned Grand Master of the Knights Hospitaller.

Whenever a problem that seems insurmountable is discussed, people always hope that he can step in and provide some directional guidance.

However, it had been so long since he last hosted a gathering that one of the attendees could not recall the exact time, only saying it was a few years ago.

Jerome's curiosity about this legendary figure intensified, and he pricked up his ears to eavesdrop on the doctors' discussions about the abbot's health.

It's a consensus that he retired from public life due to illness. Some believe he was infected by leprosy patients during his early medical practice, others think it's a congenital family disease, and some extreme groups even claim he was poisoned by high-ranking church officials, which surprisingly garnered considerable support.

After listening for a while, all the claims were limited to rumors and speculation, without any factual basis.

The Grand Master seems to have become something akin to a divine father, capable of solving all problems, but he remains hidden due to various limitations, including illness.

After a moment of reflection, the crowd began to disperse, and the conversations gradually thinned out, leaving only a few older, more composed voices with different accents discussing something else.

They didn't deliberately avoid the topic, but they still kept their voices down for certain reasons. Only a few words could be caught through the door, along with a few words that were repeatedly mentioned, such as "ethics" and "censorship."

These terms are often linked to funding and experiments, as if some factor outside the church is limiting research progress. The various rules and regulations are quite complex, and the group had many questions about them, but they tacitly kept quiet when it came to the origins of the system, without even uttering a complaint.

However, it seems things have taken a turn for the better; "ethics" has become increasingly ambiguous, and "approval" has become more open to discussion. That unspeakable behemoth, which sits atop all schools of thought, seems to be planning to make changes.

Whatever the reason for this change, it is a good thing for everyone.

The conversation outside grew quieter and quieter until the night patrol passed by, at which point it finally ended.

Jerome closed his eyes, savoring the day's events, and prepared to sleep, but his sleepiness had vanished without him noticing.

He realized he had missed the best time to fall asleep, but luckily he didn't have to get up early for morning prayers the next day, so he comfortably enjoyed the tranquility of the night.

My ears became eyes in the darkness, clearly counting my heartbeats. Chaotic thoughts flickered in my mind, like a school of fish swimming in clear water, seemingly connected by some pattern, but I could only catch a fleeting glimpse of them.

Without the noise and distractions of the daytime, my consciousness was exceptionally clear. Information was like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle being scattered, filtering some and picking up others, the most numerous of which were the emblems I had read.

A solid foundation in heraldry breaks them down into basic patterns, sifting through rigorous textual evidence and imaginative leaps, like panning for gold in the sand and picking wheat from husks. Later additions are stripped away, leaving behind the ancient and stable elements.

A strange unease crept into my heart, as if I were walking along a winding path, its curves regular and smooth, each bend continuing in the direction of the previous one. The sand at the edge of the path bulged slightly, as if formed by friction and pushing.

He wondered how such a vivid association came about, but he continued along the path, going further and further into the depths.

A light rustling sound arose from somewhere, initially like dragging something across the sand, then like a fingernail lightly tapping a ceramic cup, a tight, rhythmic sound that rose from low to high and continued in a continuous line, as if hard objects were rubbing against the cracks in the stone wall bricks, piece by piece.

Finally, it pressed against the smooth, hard surface, producing a continuous, indistinct fricative sound. Occasionally, when it hit a tiny uneven surface, it would produce a short, sharp vibration, like a needle tip lightly touching porcelain glaze.

He realized that the sound wasn't just in his imagination, but was crawling on the glass.

Jerome sprang out of bed and ran away from the window, trying several times before finally managing to pull the doorknob and shout for help.

Such behavior is done without even thinking; some deep-seated fear takes control of the body, and instinct replaces reason.

The patrol team, which hadn't gone far, heard the cries for help and rushed over immediately. Before the still-shaken cultivator could catch his breath, the room was filled with gleaming armor and weapons.

Several lanterns illuminated every detail, and the light shone through the clear glass windows onto the empty windowsill.

The night sky was clear and clean, and the white pagoda stood silently, its stone pale and its cold light silent.

"what happens?"

"There seems to be... a snake outside the window?"

He inexplicably felt that the spiral lights on the tower resembled the spine of a snake coiled around it.

Two prisoners thrust onto the stage amidst bloodshed and power struggles, a symbiotic relationship oscillating between killing and dependence.

Cyberpunk's absurdity, cold violence, frenzied entertainment, profound depravity, and warm undertones create a magnificent nightmare.

Welcome to "Prisoner's Game"! The best book I've discovered recently, highly recommended!

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