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

After class, Gordon went to Professor Winslow's office.

Winslow wasn't in the office; only Peter and another strange man were there.

The professor's large, armchair was completely empty, exuding an air of regret.

Peter was pouring coffee for people at a small round table in the waiting area.

"You're still alive," Peter said.

"This is the second time I've heard it today," Gordon said, "but you're not as enthusiastic as before."

"Who was that before?"

"A noble lady."

"I wouldn't stoop to comparing myself to little girls." Peter rolled his eyes with restraint, clearly mindful that there were still guests in the office.

"And who is this?" Gordon asked, turning to the stranger.

  

He was a man in his mid-thirties, wearing a dark brown wool coat over a gray vest, and gloves made of soft deerskin.

He was also carrying a black box with brass corners, locked, and looked difficult to open.

"Just call me Sinclair." The man bowed slightly. "A spiritual craftsman."

artisan!

Gordon's heart skipped a beat.

These people are rare masters in Lundnium, proficient in the secret techniques of processing source materials. Vera's sword was made by someone like them.

"I am Gordon Vick, the professor's assistant," Gordon said.

"Mr. Sinclair brought some source material and wanted to have the professor confirm it," Peter said. "The professor left early this morning without saying why."

"Professor Winslow is a leading figure in this field. I don't mind waiting," Sinclair said. "Getting the source phase wrong will lead to a whole host of after-sales problems."

"After-sales issues?" Gordon asked.

"A customer died. My workshop was vandalized. Investigators came to my door," Sinclair said. "These three things can be arranged in any order."

"Can I take a look?" Gordon asked curiously.

"This..." Sinclair thought to himself.

Source material is a very important thing, and letting two students see it would be a waste of its potential.

He had also been to school and knew that college students were not much better than intelligent monkeys.

Young people always have an astonishing curiosity, even though they could patiently wait for the professor to return.

"Let Gordon take a look," Peter said indifferently.

He had been sitting with Sinclair for an hour, his head throbbing from drinking coffee, and he was just waiting for someone to give a conclusion to this matter.

Sinclair hesitated for a moment, but finally opened the briefcase.

The box was lined with deep purple velvet and contained a hexagonal sealed box. The top was transparent, and a very beautiful source material was suspended in the middle.

Gordon's eyes immediately lit up with an irresistible light, making one lose their senses.

It resembles a translucent purplish-red gemstone, a blend of rose and night, with fine, thorny veins running through its interior.

A faint salty taste rose on Gordon's tongue, as if a tear had slid into the corner of his mouth.

[A shimmering miniature source material—"Sorrow and Thorns." It can evoke painful and sorrowful memories. The more it hurts, the less one wants to let go.]

Gordon was quite interested.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Sinclair said. "This source material is a rare item imported from the Southern Continent."

"It's beautiful," Gordon said. "What do you plan to do with it?" This kind of source material is clearly not suitable for refining.

"Make it into a brooch and send it to a jewelry store on Norwich Street," Sinclair said. "They want a Evangelical Feast themed piece. Charitable, elegant, and suitable for a widow."

Gordon had already seen that scene.

The widow put on the brooch and then cried incessantly.

Thinking of all the bad things her deceased husband had done, she cried even more bitterly.

"Source material isn't a colored stone; you can't assume it's beneficial to humans just because it looks pretty," Gordon said.

"You're talking like Professor Winslow now, only forty years younger and four hundred thousand times poorer," Peter said.

"...Mr. Vic doesn't approve of this design?" Sinclair frowned.

Gordon did not answer immediately.

He bent down to look at the source material, pretending to observe it carefully, behaving like a professional searching for evidence.

"How long has this storage box contained the source material?" Gordon asked.

"This is how it arrived from overseas; it's been about four months," Sinclair said.

"There are ways to test the properties of the source material."

"I would like to hear the details."

"The source material will emit a faint spiritual radiation. Given enough time, it will leave a residue in the surrounding materials. It could be a piece of cloth, or it could be the air," Gordon said. "Peter, come and smell it."

Peter's hand, holding the coffee cup, froze in mid-air.

"Why me?" Peter asked.

"Because you are an experienced researcher at our university," Gordon said.

"There's a river wider than the Blackwater River separating research from the source of knowledge," Peter said.

"Okay, then let's sit for another six hours and wait for the professor to come back."

Why don't you do it yourself?

"I'm not in a hurry."

"...What will happen after I smell it?" Peter glanced at the brass clock on the wall, clearly still having something to do.

"In theory, it would only produce a mild emotional reaction," Gordon said.

Sinclair opened the hexagonal storage box.

Cold air escaped from the box, and Peter fanned it with his fan magic.

one second.

two seconds.

Peter looked sad.

The impatience in his eyes slowly disappeared, replaced by a distant, profound, and complex sadness.

"I'm thinking of Sophia," Peter said.

"Who? Which beauty? My first love?" Gordon asked curiously.

"I had a goose when I was a child," Peter said. "It was fierce, it only recognized me, and it would chase after the village postman and peck at him. One day my grandmother said it had gone missing."

"It's a pity."

"That evening, my family made goose soup. I drank two bowls, and then I went to the kitchen and saw Sophia's head in a bucket."

The office was quiet for a moment.

Gordon's expression was somber.

Sinclair also looked somber.

"Sophia is pretty good, the potatoes are delicious, the cabbage is also very good, and it's sprinkled with salt..." Peter was lost in thought.

"Thank you so much for your sacrifice, Peter," Gordon said.

"I hate you," Peter said.

"Hating me means you have normal emotional functioning, which is very good," Gordon said.

Sinclair, however, had already sat up completely upright.

"Indeed... this is a source of sadness, and I guessed it had this trait," Sinclair said.

“It’s not just sadness.” Gordon’s tone was very professional. “Notice Peter’s narration. He didn’t just think about Sophia… about the death of the goose, he also added that the soup was delicious, he remembered drinking two bowls, and he remembered his grandmother lying. You see, there’s attachment, shame, pain, and a lingering feeling that he doesn’t want to let go of… If it were just sadness, Peter must have encountered something much more painful.”

"..." Peter glared at Gordon.

"Yes! That's important. Is it the goose you're unwilling to let go of, or its taste? Or your childhood that you can't go back to?" Sinclair pressed, also beginning to ponder the matter.

"...Please stop mentioning Sophia..." Peter gulped down his coffee, trying to wash away the childhood memory of the goose with the bitterness.

Gordon pointed to that beautiful source material.

"In short, if it were made into a Easter brooch, the wearer would definitely be very sad. As for whether it's elegant or not, it depends on how much snot she has when she cries," Gordon concluded.

"So we can't give it to a jewelry store." Sinclair's expression was serious. "It's not suitable for everyday wear; it might be useful at a funeral."

"No, take my advice, you can give it to the police station and the investigation bureau," Gordon said. "Let those criminals think about how ridiculous their lives have been."

Yes.

Sinclair's eyes lit up.

This is a power that can awaken bitter memories and amplify sadness; it might have a surprising effect when used in interrogation situations.

Many people can endure suffering and withstand severe torture, but if they recall something they regret in the middle of the night, their mental state may not be able to withstand it.

Sinclair packed the box away and carefully examined Gordon.

"I think I have enough leads," he said. "Clock Tower Street, Sinclair Spiritual Workshop. Mr. Vic, if you'd like, I'd be happy to show you a few unfinished pieces. I have to get back to work now; a hunter brought me a small source material today, and I need to process it as soon as possible."

"Grey is quick," Gordon thought. "They were just negotiating the price yesterday, and today the goods have already been delivered to the workshop."

"His sexuality is so twisted, he'd be perfect for making bullets?"

"Exploding the bottle might be more appropriate... Ah, how did you know?"

"It's alright," Gordon said. "Take care. I'll visit again when I have time."

A spiritual artisan is someone who possesses the skills to process and transform source matter, and he is happy to engage with those involved.

Sinclair got up and packed his suitcase.

Peter saw Sinclair out.

This incident caused his appetite to fluctuate wildly; one moment he wanted to weep for his lost childhood, and the next he wanted to ask where in the city he could buy stewed goose.

In the corridor, Sinclair kept thinking about Gordon Vick.

Professor Winslow's assistant?

Such judgment is extraordinary.

Of course, it's also possible that being around Professor Winslow for a long time would lead to being influenced by his surroundings.

He secretly remembered "Gorden Vick" as someone worth befriending. "Peter Gershkovich," the professor's other assistant. And "Sophia," a goose who had been loved.

……

Gordon slept in Winslow's office until eight or nine o'clock at night; he was sound asleep.

"Huh?" Professor Winslow returned.

He did not wake Gordon immediately.

Seeing Gordon fast asleep on the sofa, he suddenly remembered that many years ago, he had also slept soundly in the classroom and the teacher's office until the sun went down, his mind filled with dreams and lofty ideals.

Winslow sat down in the chair.

"Good morning...good evening, Professor." Gordon sensed someone approaching and opened his eyes from the sofa in the waiting area.

"Why are you waiting for me so late?" Professor Winslow placed a manuscript on the table.

"Just a routine greeting." Gordon rubbed his face, actually wanting to ask about the ancient rubbings and the Fishing King, "but my matter can wait. What is that?"

"The trial manuscript, published in the Journal of the Royal Society of Logarithm," Winslow said calmly, though his hand kept stroking the cover. "Our 'Experiment on Directed Induction of Deepclaw Demons by Extracts' has been approved as a short communication. I spent the whole day talking with other scholars today."

Gordon regained consciousness.

The Journal of the Royal Society of Logarithm is the temple of academia, publishing the most cutting-edge research results and serving as a key distinguishing first-rate scholars from third-rate idiots.

That experiment on the extract from the silverfish box is actually going to be published.

He initially only joked with the count about targeted guidance, but now it's actually been written into an academic journal!

Professor Winslow's expression remained calm.

But Gordon could tell that the old man was very happy.

Within three minutes of entering, Winslow had already stroked the manuscript several times.

This is an important part of the daily grind of academic achievements.

"Congratulations, Professor," Gordon said.

"Not just me, but you too." Winslow smiled. "The samples came from you, the initial judgments came from you, and you also participated in the experimental recording. Gordon, this is your first formal contact with the Imperial academic community."

"When publishing, please describe me as an unnamed assistant," Gordon said.

"Of course. Of course. There's no need to increase the risk unnecessarily." Winslow noticed his coffee bag had shrunk considerably. "...Was someone here during the day?"

Gordon talked about spiritual artisans, sorrow and thorns, and Sophia.

“Ah, Sinclair,” Winslow said thoughtfully. “He graduated from this school and took my classes. That kid wasn’t cut out for staying. He couldn’t stand committees, defenses, and stupid questions. But he had a very steady hand, just like yours. Besides, he was good at making Source into things that were useful to humanity… all of this would help us pursue the really important question: finding the truth about Source.”

"The truth about the source?" Gordon was also very curious.

His eyes could see all sorts of information, and he could even directly identify certain characteristics and make grand pronouncements. But even now, he didn't know if it was a kind of primal force.

And then there was that Otherworldly creature that looked like a black goat, one of the strangest anomalies he had encountered since coming to this world. Peter had thrown it into some incinerator afterward, but the problems it left behind still live on.