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

Vera felt something was wrong with her.

In the past, when she was injured, she would usually sit against the wall, relying on her own vitality to heal herself and leaving it to fate.

Now she can relax a bit.

"Everything that needed stitching has been stitched up, and the bleeding has stopped. The left shoulder is the most troublesome; it needs a patient who is willing to rest properly," Gordon said.

"Ouch," Vera said.

She didn't open her eyes.

The wound is itchy, my head is foggy, and I don't want to think anymore.

Gordon casually straightened the fallen belt.

He found Vera's identification, which bore the dragon emblem of the Hunter Administration.

"Your hunter's license," Gordon said.

"Don't look," Vera said.

"Do you have your daguerreotype?"

“There are three words,” Vera said, “internship.”

"You kill people like chickens, you can crush the monster Harold, and you're still in your probationary period," Gordon said. "If the person in charge of the assessment has any shame, they should jump into the river themselves."

"There's no record," Vera said. "No great achievements."

"There's enough to write about tonight," Gordon said. "A cult servant, a giant clam shell, a black water ritual, explosive demolition, and finally, a mermaid crawling out of a drainpipe. But after the agency reads the report, they'll probably suggest we go check out 53 Wisteria Road."

53 Wisteria Road is the largest mental hospital in Lundnim.

"So you don't need to write it," Vera said. "I didn't come here for a promotion."

  

"So... the commission is officially complete," Gordon said. "If you want to leave, I won't use any damn reason to keep you here."

According to the cleanest algorithm in the hunter industry, they each go their own way.

Vera's mind was foggy, but upon hearing those words, she felt uneasy.

"Whether it's a favor or not," Vera said, feeling some strength returning, as she slowly sat up. "It doesn't matter."

"This idea will keep you in your internship indefinitely."

"I need you," Vera said. "You... can make money... can understand things that others can't, you'll help me prepare plans... help me solve problems... if you die, I might not have anything to eat... you... you promised to treat me."

Gordon watched as she tried to find an excuse.

"You're laughing." She was annoyed. "Why?"

"Wait until you are fully recovered before you leave."

"Okay." Vera thought this was an excellent reason.

"So, Miss Vera Cartrett, can we start long-term living by respecting the doctor's advice?" Gordon said.

"...Mmm," Vera said softly.

Gordon tightened the last loop of bandage for Vera and tied a flat knot that wouldn't compress the blood flow.

She felt much better.

Then, Gordon opened the cabin door.

Inside was the tin box that Vera had asked about before he left, but he hadn't answered.

Gordon opened the brass clasp on the box.

Inside, there were neatly arranged canned beef in tin foil, canned mackerel in oil, canned canned fruit, small round cookies, and concentrated meat gravy in glass bottles.

They were all sealed, and each can had a fancy, printed label with the "Style Brand" food company on it.

Vera's eyes were fixed on the can.

She hadn't expected Gordon to have made all the preparations.

Gordon pried open the can of beef with his hunting knife, and steam from the fat and spices escaped in the cold rain.

"I'm not hungry," Vera said, her right hand already naturally taking it.

"Eat if you're hungry."

"I'm just checking... food safety." Vera shook the can.

"There are serious side effects, the main one being the urge to eat more after finishing the first dose," Gordon said.

She finally stopped hesitating and ate it in big bites.

After finishing her meal, she paused for a moment.

Satisfy.

"Your source matter... seems unbalanced," Gordon said. "It needs treatment."

"..." Vera sat up a little straighter.

In the past, people only said she was "troublesome," but Gordon seriously treated her as a patient.

"If you use too much, you'll have to drink double the amount of inhibitors, and inhibitors, as far as I know, are also a kind of neurotoxin that will ruin your brain. So you have to rest and do nothing," Gordon said.

Vera's expression finally showed a hint of genuine confusion.

Do nothing.

By this time, the small boat was almost in the city.

The city air makes people feel free, fog rises from the river, and noise increases.

Under the bridge, boatmen cursed; in the alley, drunkards sang off-key; and theaters and taverns still shone brightly late into the night.

Gordon sat at the bow of the boat.

He held the faint source material of the alien "Birth of Failure" in his arms, a bag of alien materials that could be exchanged for money, and Harold's notebook filled with secrets.

One student, one wounded soldier, and a boatload of stolen goods.

It's not exactly the kind of late-night return of successful people, but it's still a unique entrepreneurial experience in Lundnim.

"...Why did things come to this?" Vera asked softly.

"To tell you where it all began..." Gordon shrugged, "I had to work part-time as a demon hunter because I couldn't afford to pay my student loans."

The reasons are simple and the logic is clear.

……

I don't know if it's because of the mermaid, but it's raining in the city too.

They disembarked at the Crown Pier in the Eastern District, a 15-minute walk from 9 Knights Road, and they were able to hold on.

Gordon helped Vera up.

Vera leaned half her weight on him, her hand constantly gripping the hilt of her sword. If anyone got too close, she would immediately change them from a "suspicious person" to a "deceased person."

Just then, a series of orderly footsteps came from the other end of the dock.

Leather boots waded through the water, brass buckles clinked, and the yellow light of the bull's eye lantern flickered.

The leader was also wearing an octagonal badge of the Department of Extraterrestrial Affairs.

Police officers.

There is also the Department of Extraterrestrial Affairs.

Gordon and Vera crossed the street discreetly.

"Looking for us?" Vera frowned.

She wasn't afraid of the alien demons, only the investigators from the Alien Demon Affairs Bureau.

"Not really. If they really came to arrest us, they should have the look of delight at finding a reward on their faces." Gordon glanced around.

These people, burdened with worries and in a hurry, escorted a stretcher through the heavy rain.

The stretcher held a human-shaped corpse, covered too thickly to be seen.

The rain only wets the surface, but the body looked like it had been pulled from a river, with water constantly dripping from the edges of the white cloth.

Gordon tried to listen to what they were saying.

"...In the middle of the night..."

"...You mean...the affairs department...?"

"...How could someone drown in their own home...?"

The last sentence drifted in through the rain, catching Gordon's attention.

The lead investigator suddenly turned his head.

A beat too late, and Gordon and Vera had already disappeared around the corner.

"It seems someone drowned in their own home," Gordon said.

"?" Vera looked down at the ground and then around, but there was no sign of flooding.

"That's strange," Gordon shrugged. "So it's a higher priority than us."

"They'll still be at the Charles pumping station," Vera said.

"Yes, it was a huge explosion, enough to wake up shepherds and farmers within a five-mile radius. People will definitely go after dawn. But that's none of our business anymore," Gordon said.

"Will they find out about us?" Vera asked.

"You're a legitimate hunter. And there's a cult ritual, the remains of an Otherworldly being, and a broken clam shell. They'll investigate the dead, the cult, the Otherworldly being, the original operator of the pump station, and the person who sold the clam shell. We can only be sixth in line."

Vera was relieved.

After walking for a while, Gordon finally saw the outline of No. 9 Knight Road.

The lights were off at the Hopkins Dental Clinic on the first floor, and the beautiful dental models in the window seemed to salute Gordon.

[Dental teaching model. Reminds you to brush your teeth daily.]

Only then did he feel a rare sense of relaxation. He went upstairs, took out his key, and inserted it into the lock to open the door.

As soon as the door opened, the lingering warmth from inside the room rushed out.

A dark brown dining table, two empty cups, and the blue and white checkered tablecloth that Charlotte had chosen.

Vera scanned the area but found no threat.

Once the door is closed, the sound of the rain can no longer be heard, and a sense of security arises spontaneously.

"It's time to rest," Gordon advised.

"I can keep watch."

"Even if there are enemies, they will only find an exhausted, blood-drained fool sitting in the door who thinks he is very intimidating."

Vera glared at Gordon.

The next second, she yawned.

The body issued an independent statement at this moment, saying, "Don't listen to your brain."

Left with no other choice, Vera returned to her bedroom, lay down on her small bed, and almost immediately fell asleep.

……

Get a good night's rest; it'll be Sunday morning.

Vera opened her eyes, feeling light and comfortable all over.

She noticed that Gordon had changed her dressing that morning.

In addition, she had changed out of her blood-stained coat and soaking wet boots, which explained why she felt both dry and warm.

She didn't wake up, perhaps because she was sleeping too soundly, or perhaps because Gordon was taking very good care of her.

Vera felt a faint sense of emotion. She walked down barefoot and was then drawn into the living room by the aroma of coffee.

Gordon was busy working beside a small iron stove, on which sat a coffee pot, from which puffs of white steam were being expelled.

"Have a seat," Gordon said, pouring Vera a cup of coffee.

"I don't have time to rest."

"We need to seriously discuss this nonsense you're spouting."

"That's how hunters are."

"From today onwards, you are no longer allowed to use 'that's how hunters are' to explain away actions that will only lead to your death."

"Aww..." Vera hummed in her own way, then lowered her head to drink her coffee.

"Next, let's take stock of everything." Gordon spread out the table and dumped a bag of spoils onto it.

A bunch of oddities appeared, including various cartilages, glands, corals, and shells, whose use was completely unknown, but which could be sold to certain recyclers.

"These will be valuable," Vera nodded silently.

"These are valuable too." Gordon took out Harold's notebook. "These are intellectual property stolen goods, which are usually more valuable than seafood stolen goods."

Gordon opened the book and casually read a few lines to Vera.

The notes were a jumble of things. Harold started writing from the moment he decided to shed his shell and blend into human society, describing how he endured dry skin, tinnitus, and the humiliation he suffered from others. From the very beginning, he didn't consider himself a human being.

Amidst these casual remarks, Harold drew numerous illustrations, mostly sketches of seashells, lungs, and brains, executed with great precision in his signature style.

Gordon turned to the chapter on the Monford family, in which Harold had some reservations about the family.

The cold-blooded count, the arrogant Charlotte, the rude butler… Harold had long wanted to kill them all.

"He hates everyone," Vera said.

"Not only that." Gordon flipped to the next page, "He wrote a sentence: 'Going ashore is just a long misunderstanding.'"

"What do you mean?" Vera asked.

"It means he felt that evolving into an ape god was a disservice to him," Gordon said.

"Huh?"

Gordon flipped through the pages, skimming over the ramblings, complaints, and drawings, until he finally saw a line of almost transparent text.

"...Twenty years from now, we will sink into the Blackwater River and meet again in the Sea of ​​Sinking Stars. We will pay homage to the Fishing King," Gordon said.

"What is the King of Fishermen?" Vera asked.

"Hopefully it's fish products," Gordon said. "And 'Sea of ​​Sinking Stars.' Sounds like an over-decorated seafood restaurant."

"horrible."

“Yes,” Gordon said, “I can accept that Lundenim has smuggling routes, cult hideouts, and demon lairs beneath it. But if it’s also connected to a mysterious realm called the ‘Sea of ​​Sinking Stars,’ then I’ll have to consider learning to swim.”

Next, Gordon opened the Rundnim underground hydrographic map.

This is somewhat similar to the one in Old Baz's lair, suitable for understanding the underground world of Lundnim, and about half the size of a dining table.

The content is complex and intricate, and it is not possible to discern the meaning of each mark in detail in a short time. The Rice Pump Station is just one inconspicuous node among them.

Vera glanced at 9 Knights Road in the East District and nodded when she found the nearest underground entrance was two blocks away.

If any fishmen peek out from there, she will let them know that coming ashore was indeed a huge misunderstanding.