Unable to repay my student loans, I had no choice but to work part-time as a demon hunter.

Chapter 109 The Right Person

He'd even done things he shouldn't have; Vera in stockings was no joke. A few days into his ecstasy, something dragged Gordon out of 9 Knightsway: to go to Lundnim Central Station to see Peter off back home.

Peter Gershkovich stood on platform number one, carrying a huge suitcase, as the train bound for the port was about to arrive.

"Gorden, you look like you're dead, yet you're full of energy." Peter exclaimed in surprise, "What happened?"

"No," Gordon waved his hand. "That's just how life is."

"I can understand, you're really something else," Peter remarked. "It started with Harold, then the monster battles in the countryside, then Green Manor, and now you're officially researching Blackwater Syndrome. I'm so glad I got out of there in time, staying far away from these potentially head-losing things."

"You will miss the chance to go down in history."

"I'm not worthy of this, Gordon." Peter took out his hardcover notebook from inside his coat and handed it to Gordon. "This notebook lists the suppliers that Lundnim can somewhat trust. Use them to buy or sell things in the future."

"Very good, very good. I recently started a factory, and it will come in handy." Gordon flipped through the list, which contained some very reliable sources and channels in the biomedical field.

Thanks to Peter's proactive networking, each supplier's information was listed, including address, contact person, delivery speed, and bottom price.

Peter passed on the survival experience he had gained in Lundnim to Gordon.

Gordon closed the notebook; with it, he had finally overcome the last hurdle in the supply chain.

"The professor will miss you, really," Gordon said.

"I guess he'll habitually call the new assistant Peter."

"Possibly. It must be quite boring for a professor to be alone."

"So you should visit him occasionally, not just when he needs to sign something."

The train pulled into the station. Peter took a deep breath, picked up his suitcase, and said, "Goodbye, Lundnim. I'm back, Ross. Oh, beautiful Nevagrad—"

"Hey." Gordon waved to his friend, thinking about parting ways with him. "Remember to write."

"You write it."

"The postage is too expensive."

"I knew it." Peter turned around. "The assistant position will become available. It's paid, close to the professor, and many people want it. Find a suitable person to replace me."

"must."

"Once I become the academic leader of Ross, we'll probably meet at some international conference, haha—" Peter's figure disappeared into the shadowy crowd.

Through the car window, Gordon watched Peter drive away. Peter didn't turn around, wave, or say a nice goodbye.

The train moved slowly. Gordon stepped out of the station, mounted his horse, and began looking for the next person to do logistics.

There had to be a manager—Gorden opened the notebook Peter had left behind and began to look for the appropriate information.

At 40 Mole Street in South Lundnim, John Seymour lived on the third floor of a rented house. Gordon had a good impression of him; he was an excellent student.

Gordon walked around some wooden tubs piled with clothes and a few sickly children, and stopped in front of a green door with peeling paint.

"Knock knock".

"Who? Oh, Gordon?" John's voice came from inside.

"You sound disappointed?"

"No, I thought the hospital staff had arrived." John opened the door.

Gordon went inside and took a look.

[A rented room. Small space, lots of responsibilities.]

A table served as both a dining table and a desk, piled high with medical records. Only one corner held an ink bottle. Against the wall was a gray-blue iron bed with stacks of old newspapers underneath. The stove was squeezed under the window.

"What are they doing?" Gordon observed.

"I need to transcribe the medical records for the hospital. The doctors' and nurses' handwritten notes are too messy, but the hospital needs to keep them documented, so I need to find someone to rewrite them." John returned to his desk and began writing the unfinished parts.

"Welcome." John's mother, Mrs. Seymour, got up to pour Gordon water; she was mending a shirt.

"Hello," Gordon greeted her.

"Is he John's classmate? Did he do something wrong?" Mrs. Seymour brought over a chair.

[A cracked old wooden chair. It has endured years of poverty, and now it must endure you.]

Gordon decided not to sit.

He checked John's notes; the content was excellent and the organization was very clear.

"No," Gordon explained. "Peter left Lundnim, and Professor Winslow is short of an assistant position. We need someone to be responsible for organizing the records and streamlining the entire standard when we are studying Blackwater Syndrome."

"Blackwater Syndrome." John said hesitantly, "Do we have to go into the water? Do we have to come into contact with the Otherworldly Demons?"

"No need, it's all paperwork."

"But Gordon Vick, your name has been linked to some terrible things lately." John said nervously, "If researching Blackwater Syndrome will implicate me and my family, I—"

"Don't worry, it's really just going to Professor Winslow's place to organize some things; I won't be fighting any monsters. Any extra tasks will be explained to you about the risks before you participate."

"————" John hesitated.

"First, the fixed salary is three silver pounds per week. Second, you will be listed as a co-author on the Blackwater Comprehensive Investigation Project. Third, it will not involve any high-risk work," Gordon offered.

"Sigh." John turned his gaze back to the pile of medical records on the table. His mind raced, calculating his mother's medication costs, rent, transportation expenses—

"Mr. Vic, may I ask you two questions?" Mrs. Seymour asked.

"certainly."

"Will you really pay my salary on time?"

"Of course, I received mine myself."

"Will his name really appear on the paper?"

"Absolutely. We're a group. Anyone who meets the criteria and makes contributions will be included. And the professor is already applying for research funding, thousands of pounds, and we'll get some sooner or later," Gordon promised.

Mrs. Seymour nodded, then gently took the medical records and handwritten notes from John's hands.

"Mom—" John was forced to stand up.

"You have the mind to be a doctor; you should do something more meaningful."

"But if I go out to work, there will be no one at home to take care of you during the day," John said softly.

"It's alright, my child. Your mother will always support you." Mrs. Seymour patted John's hair.

John looked up, took a deep breath, and turned to Gordon, determined to make him act like a man.

"When are we going? Where are we going?" His tone was different from usual; he realized that today might be the starting point for forever changing his boring life.

"You can leave anytime. The professor lives at Grey Oak Estate in Herfordshire. You can get there by train or by horse-drawn carriage."

"Okay." John neatly folded the medical record copy, changed out of his old shirt, and put on a college uniform jacket that was about the same age as Gordon's. The two of them walked out.

"Go on, and tell me how big the professor's house is when you come back tonight," Mrs. Seymour said goodbye.

John and Gordon went downstairs and stood at the door.

Gordon explained to him the background of the entire Blackwater Syndrome project, the technical difficulties they were currently facing, including the development of effective drugs and the compilation of case studies, and described the future prospects to him—a grand vision of curing all the patients in the city and integrating industry, academia, and research. Although some of the content was exaggerated, it still largely conformed to the outline of the future prospects.

John took a deep breath.

"Okay, Vic, thank you," he said.

"Good buddy." Gordon led John away. "Soon you'll learn the most important quality we academics should have—tenacity. When the professor tells you you can't do it, you have to hold on."

Later, after finishing his research, Gordon returned to No. 9 Knight Road.

John performed exceptionally well, and Winslow even covered his travel expenses. John sorted through all the materials needed for the project, saving Gordon a lot of trouble. Compared to Peter, John's advantage was clearly his intelligence; he grasped things quickly and could sometimes solve problems that didn't require Gordon's full attention. Gordon immediately had more ideas in mind; there were many things he didn't need to do personally and could delegate to John.

He was already exhausted during this period, and he still had to play two games with Vera in the evening, which was really enjoyable.

Passing by the mailbox, he opened it and took out two letters.

"Hmm————!" Gordon read it aloud.

The first letter was from Martin, inviting him to the Royal Archives to collect the right to use two artifacts exchanged for minor achievements.

The second letter was a reply from the Elizabethan Charitable Foundation, informing him of the fate of his student loans.